


Those Who Walk Away (Walk Together)

by jellyjimin



Category: Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas - Ursula K. Le Guin, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse (mentioned), Disturbing Themes, Dystopia, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Jimin is a sad baby, M/M, Magical Realism, Malnutrition, Minor Character Death, Misery, Omelas AU, Park Jimin-centric, Poverty, Psychological Horror, Psychology, Tags May Change, Unsanitary Things, Utopia, everyone is connected man, slow start, violent themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9884894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyjimin/pseuds/jellyjimin
Summary: A town by the shore, where the salty breeze blooms wildflowers and the mountains stand tall behind them. A town unlike any other, where its people live with virtually no worry, where everyone is safe and well-pleased. The perfect society. A utopia.Or so they thought.The youth doesn't know, but one day they will, and it will destroy everything.*New Prologue & Ch1 Posted**All JM Chapters Deleted, Explanation on https://twitter.com/WelcomeToOmelas





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever look at the world around you and think: this moment feels perfect?  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Entirely New Prologue

Do you ever look at the world around you and think: this moment feels perfect?

There are many times that this thought popped into their heads. Yet, they never spoke about it. They never articulated that feeling they get when they see the way the water skips up onto the shore, or how the tall trees look against the background of a blue mountain, or how the sun reflects off of something golden.

Perhaps that is why it is so hard now to describe. The words were never invented. There is no adjective that properly suits that feeling.

Nonetheless, in the cobblestone streets of Omelas, this was a common feeling.

Leather soles on the pavement. The warm ocean breeze blowing over the town. There wasn’t necessarily much to see. But it was the atmosphere, the beauty in average, uninspired things that made it so special.

It is unsure what exactly made it this way. Why this random civilization by the sea, encased by mountains on both sides, resembled so nearly something _perfect._ But it was. Omelas was the closest thing to perfection. Given, there were no other societies to compare it to, none that their residents knew of, of course. They were too isolated to know, but they knew. Somehow, Omelas knew.

They even once knew of their greatest imperfection, an imperfection that made all of their other perfections possible.

Hidden beneath those cobblestone roads was a secret, and yet it was not a secret all at once. They all knew of the child. It would be unfair to say that they were ignorant of it. No, they knew very well. Yet once they knew, they faced a choice: know and stay, or know and leave.

Those who knew and stayed to continue their life in Omelas found themselves placing this child only in the back of their mind. It was never spoken of, never asked about, even in the moments after they discovered it. Their choice was a silent one, a silent acceptance of this necessity. If something as horrible as that must occur for them to live in peace, then so be it.

Those who knew and left also made a silent choice. After their discovery, they would ponder, sometimes for months, sometimes for just a day. No questions ever asked. Just as quietly, they would pack their bags full of clothing. Their parents would prepare food for them- a week’s worth, a month’s worth. It didn’t matter. Soon enough, they’d walk through the town, head down- always down- and out of the golden gates. Sometimes, they’d turn back to glance once more upon their town. Other times, they never bothered. It varied, and yet there were two things that never changed- they never came back, and they always left alone.

No one knew where those people went. They’d slip away like ghosts, floating down the path between the mountains and into the unknown.

This way of life worked, until one day, it didn’t.

Too many of the youth who found out decided to leave. No one understood why. Parents would beg their children to stay, but their children refused to contribute to society knowing what it truly thrived on- the misery of one child, locked away from the world. At one point, Omelas was made up mostly of older generations and young children. The work force immediately went to shambles, and with no one to pick up the jobs being left behind, it was then that a decision was made.

The people of Omelas no longer knew. The secret from before became a true secret, one that lay only with adults. With most teenagers and young adults gone, who was there  to protest this change? And so, just like that, the youth no longer left. No one ever left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow WelcomeToOmelas on twitter for inside looks and edits into the story!


	2. The Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, negativity never truly resided in the city. It just so happened to work out like this, and it wasn’t questioned. In this way, the idea of Namjoon being hurt by another was preposterous. Not that it was impossible, but still unlikely, because that's just not how the people of Omelas were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Very Slightly Rewritten
> 
> I hope that you enjoy! If you have read this before it will probably seem exactly the same, I only changed small details for consistency reasons. Thank you!

>  

_Beep beep beep beep beep beep be-_

Jungkook slams his hand down on the alarm clock, ears ringing from its obnoxious blaring which rudely breaks through the new summer’s silence. He awakens in the same way that anyone would on an ordinary June morning. From beneath his covers, he tries opening his eyes. Even the shadow of his sheets seems too bright.

Despite the unpleasant circumstance of an alarm ringing into his ear, he ignores the instinctual annoyance of an abrupt wakening. Instead, he breathes the morning air in deeply. The stiff feeling in his joints creaks free as he stretches out, arms extended over his head. To someone watching, they would likely find the motion oddly similar to that of a lounging cat.

His eyes are blurry with sleep. They are usually wide and doe-like, but in the early light of the morning they were swollen and half-closed with drowsiness. Despite his inability yet to focus, his mind conjures up the remnants of last night’s dreams. An image is pulled from the depths of his subconscious mind. At first, it flickers as if struggling to resist being dragged back to the dark waves in the back of his brain, but eventually the scene calms and begins to play out.

A mother cradles a child, with a sweet smile and soft touch. Dark hair cascades over her shoulders. Electricity courses through him. A bright, yet comforting light shines above her head, and his body buzzes. He looks up into the woman's tired yet sparkling eyes. They swim with... an emotion that he can't recall. He thinks she’s about to say something as he mouth opens, but then the world slowly falls away, splintering.

 _Odd,_ he thinks, but not too odd. He’s had more confusing dreams than this. He’d fully stopped trying to understand them a while ago. The human mind is too complex for its own good.

Outside of his window, he can hear the trees rustling in the breeze, reminding of his plans for the day. The highly anticipated summer festival was finally here, and it was one of the town events he looked forward to the most each summer.

Each year, the town of Omelas would set up a large festival to celebrate the coming of the summer season. With store owners bustling about to open their shops, the town square came alive with the flood of people. Branching from the townsquare, the wide stone roads winded off into a wider, open field. This was the section in which volunteer townspeople would help set up the festival. With small attractions like horseback riding, potato sack races, cotton candy, shaved ice and more in the center of the town, celebrations at the beach were also prepared. There, carnival games would be set up along the boardwalk, along with a giant ferris wheel that sometimes seemed to blend in with the blue background of the sea and sky.

Later in the day, the younger children and elderly usually turn in, eating a nice dinner and then retreating to their beds. Most teenagers, however, continue their shenanigans well into the night. Some take to the beach to drink and have bonfires, and others to clubs. For his own group, they usually visit a corner store, stock up on snacks, and retreat to their own little corner of Omelas. This year, Seokjin and Yoongi even promised to buy some beers for them.

All in all, it’s a lot to look forward to. And without fail, just about everyone in Omelas would spend the day enjoying the warmth of the season. Even those repelled by large crowds found themselves outside at some point. Jungkook, who was once a shy boy, would always go out to play on the day of the festival. Now, he gets to spend the day with his close-knit group of friends. The mere thought of the laughing and sweets that were to come had a warm feeling spreading from his stomach and outward, hot like the summer sun.

"Jesus, I really need to get ready," he scolds himself quietly.

Slipping his feet onto the cool wooden floor, he heads into his bathroom, a decent sized room that extends from his bedroom. He thoroughly enjoys the benefits of having his own space to get ready and take his time in, especially considering he often wakes up looking like he was just hit by a truck. His hair was much worse than he thought, already becoming frizzy with the heat that seeps into the house. The boy's face was more swollen than ever, and– yeah, that was dried drool on his chin. Under his eyes looked a bit hollow, his skin taking on a pale complexion due to the time of day. Even his eyebrow hairs were somehow mussed up.

With a deep sigh, Jungkook closes his eyes for just a moment, before decidedly reaching out for his hairbrush and getting to work.

 

* * *

 

An hour or so later, Jungkook was heading out of his house and on to the festival. He had practically shoved on his faded black shoes, which then set him back even more because _god_ are those things a pain to tie. Still, it was only 10 am, and he was making good time. It had taken him almost no time to put on his outfit (he had already planned it out the night before, but he just knew Yoongi would tease him for it, so no one had to know). His ripped blue jeans were rolled up at his ankles, revealing pasty skin and the tops of his red socks. A simple, tan tee was tucked into the front of his pants. His mother had pressed a gentle kiss into his hairline, handing him $20 and making sure he had a water bottle in his small backpack before he left.

Jungkook smiles his usual bunny-toothed smile at her before bounding out of the house, dollar bill stuffed into his pocket and sweating bottle packed somewhere in his bag. The straps hug his shoulders tight, hitting against his back until he slowed to a walk. It was full with essentials such as his camera, his phone and phone charger, the water bottle his mother had checked for, and maybe some change if the clanging noises coming from inside meant anything.

Jungkook's shoes clunk softly against the ground as he strolls along, eyes turning from the glistening bits in the sidewalk and up towards the trees on his left that framed the sky. There was hardly a cloud amongst the blue on warm days like this. It was refreshing to have the sun shine so brightly, but that also meant little to no shade. Still, he found that he hardly ever really got burnt, just tanned, unlike some of his friends. He thought back to last summer, a day that he and his friends had spent at the beach. Yoongi and the way his nose and shoulders shone red is a sight he never wants to forget. And Jin the summer before that. He snorts a quiet laugh, hoping someone else in the group brought along sunblock, just in case any of the others forgot to wear some again.

After some walking, the sounds of the festival finally come into earshot. A cacophony of noises cascades from the next street over. People talking, laughing. Children letting out cries of joy as they ran around to all of the field games set out.

Turning, onto the block, Jungkook walks down to where the street ends and the grass starts. Further into the field are lines of bouncy houses that he and his friends meet up near every year, and so he stretches onto his toes to search for a glimpse of his friends. As expected, there stood three figures, speaking animatedly to one another.

He can see, even from this distance, as Taehyung bounces around Jin like an excited puppy. He can’t help but shake his head as he starts jogging over to them.

"Hobi!" Jungkook called out to the boy whose back faces him. The other two figures' heads lift up as Hoseok turns around to see who called his name.

"Jungkook!"  the sandy-haired boy shouts out when he finally sees him walking over, "Thank god you’re here, these two are nuts,” he says in a joking voice before making his way over to him and ruffling his hair aggressively.

Jungkook pushes him away, face scrunched up in playful irritation at his friend’s actions. Hoseok was that friend who was overly touchy and had too much child-like energy than was natural. But it never really bothered Jungkook, despite his tendency to feign annoyance now and then. He shakes his head at the teasing expression Hoseok gives him as they join the group, "Sorry I didn't text, hyung. It took me a long time to get ready."

Across from him, Taehyung’s golden hair shines like a halo around his head due to the glaring sun. His devilish expression completely offsets this image, as he mockingly looks over Jungkook's face with a hand on his chin, "I guess it is pretty hard to fix up that butt-ugly face every morning."

"Hey!" he steps forward threateningly while the group of boys break out in laughter.

"Ah, Jungkook don't kill Tae," Jin speaks up, "we hardly even started the day."

Jungkook slowly lowers his raised fists at this, the glint in his eye fading a bit as Taehyung raises himself out of fetal position with a timid laugh. Jungkook makes a mental note to get back at him later.

Taehyung pouts as he straightens himself out, arms crossing over his chest while he whines, "I don't like this new buff Jungkook. He's actually scary now."

"I was scary before!"

He cringes at the crack in his own voice. Hoseok scoffs at this.

"Not even a little. You looked like an angry rabbit at the beginning of school."

"I was still able to beat you at arm wrestling though.”

Hoseok's next retort is interrupted by the ding of a phone, and Taehyung's voice cutting through the noise.

"Yoongi said he's gonna be here soon!" he chirps, seemingly oblivious to the commotion.

Jin makes a humming noise, looking down at his own phone. "Namjoon still hasn't texted me where he is. The kid probably destroyed his glasses, once again."

"Ah, I remember the first time that happened," Taehyung looks into the sky with a wistful grin, "How many new lenses has his mother had to buy for him since freshman year?"

"Approximately ten, I believe."

"Wasn't it 12?"

"Could be, I've been keeping record in my school binder. It's around that number."

"It was 11, actually. Also hey," a monotone voice sounds from behind them.

The group turns once again to greet the new addition, now 5 high schoolers waiting on the 6th. However, it takes the 6th quite a while to show. And so, after another hour of waiting and chatting, the sun becomes too hot for the teenage boys to continue standing in the direct sunlight. They decidedly go over to the flavored iced stand, and then sit in the shade of some of the trees that line the park.

Their flavored icies melt away in their hands as the sun reaches its peak and then on in the sky. They still have fun, cracking jokes, eating, even joining a potato sack race at one point. Well, Taehyung and Jungkook joined amongst a bunch of tiny children. Taehyung won, bruising Jungkook's winning spirit, but it was worth it to see him fall face first across the finish line.

They try remaining for another hour, wandering around the field for more entertainment. However, the thought of their missing friend weighs on each boy's mind. Jungkook sniffs a bit, observing how Yoongi and Jin consistently check their phones throughout all of the fun. Eventually the worry and frustration grows. The climax of their frustration clocks out at around 4 pm, which is, needless to say, much later than their original meet up time.

"Did anyone make sure to remind him?" Taehyung questions, quickly defending himself when Yoongi sends him an exasperated look, "You know how Namjoon can be!"

"Okay," Yoongi puffs out as they now stand aside the ever-bustling festival, "Let's go check for him at his house, maybe?" His arms are crossed now, black, sweaty fringe falling into his eyes.

"That'd probably be a good idea," Hoseok nods, "but I think it's safe to assume he's not coming."

The others hum in agreement, their stiff stances and thoughtful expressions creating a nearly comical image. Yet, he tension in the air gives away the severity of their perplexity, and Taehyung's face becomes screwed up impossibly more.

"What if something bad happened?" he wonders aloud to the group.

Worry edges these words, and a heavy feeling settles as Jungkook questions in a small, hesitant voice, "Like what?"

"Like... what if he's hurt? What if he was robbed or something?"

"You know that kind of stuff never happens here," Jungkook jerks his head towards Yoongi’s sharp voice, words cutting through the tension like a hot knife in butter.

Of course, Omelas wasn't like many other societies. It wasn't perfect, not at all. But it could be seen as such when compared. The town that resided inside of shining, golden gates proved to be as good as a community could be. Crime rates were extremely low. Their small self-governed system flowed on easily. Law enforcement was hardly needed, but what did exist of it eliminated any problem that came up. Jobs paid well; all there really was to complain about was actually going. Somehow, negativity never truly resided in the city. It just so happened to work out like this, and it wasn’t questioned. In this way, the idea of Namjoon being hurt by another was preposterous. Not that it was impossible, but still unlikely, because that's just not how the people of Omelas were.

Still the boys were now considering every possibility; their friend, although disorganized and clumsy, had never been so late and so out of contact with them. It was becoming increasingly difficult to shake off the uneasiness that bloomed in his chest, and Jungkook knew his friends must feel the same.

Jungkook's eyes flicker over towards Yoongi, who huffs out a breath with furrowed brows. He quickly pulls out his phone again, typing another text message rapidly before pressing send and shoving it out of sight again.

It's not that Yoongi has a short temper, but he’s simply the type of person to take no bullshit. And frankly, it was suspicious that Namjoon had flaked out on them without any warning or explanation.

"Maybe checking his house isn't the best idea?" Jungkook spoke, "I mean, he may just want some time al-"

_ding_

Yoongi looks down at the phone in his pocket, screen shining through his black pants. The boys watch as he snatches the device out, inquisitive eyes flitting over the screen with a look that develops into confusion.

"What'd he say, man?"

Yoongi remains in this position like a freeze-frame, until Jin finds himself grabbing the phone out of his friend’s hands to have a look. His eyes narrow as he reads the message out loud.

_"Come to the park."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow WelcomeToOmelas on twitter for inside looks and edits into the story!


	3. The Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The commotion is suddenly cut off by a loud sob that cuts through the noise like a bullet, startling all of the boys into silence. Jungkook realizes belatedly that it’s him who made the noise as hot tears fall down his face and into his lap. He can't help be flinch away at the incredulous stares of his friends, curling in on himself delicately. He doesn’t know why he’s crying, but he can see flashes of the woman from his dream each time he blinks, and his heart breaks where it sits in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this one done for a while! But I'm actually trying to post on a schedule? Not too sure that that'll last but we'll see.
> 
> This is where Greek mythology starts coming in. It's not necessarily part of the plot, but I enjoy using it for comparisons and metaphors. Look closely at everything! I'll post some of the reference meanings, but not all of them, in the end notes to clear it up a bit, but you may also want to to do some research on your own as you read. 
> 
> Anyways, a lot is revealed in this chapter! It'll probably be one to look back at in the future, since it has lots of important information. I hope this doesn't suck!
> 
> Enjoy!

It hadn't taken long to reach the park, for the sounds of the townspeople to fade into shoes scuffing the sidewalk. Jungkook focuses on Yoongi’s black hair, which bobs steadily in front of him as they walk, to keep himself grounded. The sunlight reflects off of it, and he can feel its ruthless rays sinking heat into his skin. His mind swims dizzily with anticipation, fingertips buzzing with each step he takes. A passing breeze helps to cool the sweat that steadily builds on his skin, dripping down his back and face unkindly.

_Sweat collected on upper lips, tentative glances shared, summer sun glistening under heavy eyelashes, irises following the tensed shoulders of one another._

The images flash briefly yet vividly before his eyes before disappearing like smoke, scorched into his eyelids.

Jungkook shakes his head slightly, trying to calm himself. They could very well be overreacting. Surely, Namjoon would greet them with his usual dopey smile and offer them some lame reason for his odd behavior. Jungkook almost feels silly for being so nervous, and suddenly, all he wants is for someone to crack a joke to break the silence and the strain upon them.

Still, it was obvious no words would be shared until they reached Namjoon as Jungkook spares quick glances at each of his friend’s morose faces. Even Hoseok’s sunny disposition is absent, replaced by shimmering waves of anxiety. The light cast heavy shadows on their faces so that their eyes are shadowed over darkly, intensifying their steady gazes. Jungkook swallows.

Upon reaching the park, situated close to the edges of the forest, they are greeted with the sight of a tall, rusting iron gate. White clematis hangs heavily off of the twisting bars, contrasting their own dark grain. Jin’s hand envelops one of the soft blossoms as he pushes the gate open and enters the small park area. It was really more of a garden than anything, poppy and narcissus flowers blooming bright amongst the foliage.They walk along the stone path that circles around the huge, dirtied white marble vase that was filled with lavender and fern in the center of the park, and onto a path leading to a more secluded section of the garden, situated behind a line of tall shrubs.

Namjoon comes into view as they walk, his dark figure sitting slouched over on a stone white bench, shadowed from the heat by the thick, twisting trunk of a black poplar tree. It’s branches flow wide up into the summer sky, decorated with odd burls and heart-shaped leaves. Later in the summer, red catkins will hang from the twigs like devil’s fingers, swaying delicately overhead.

 _The Acheron flows, the ferry floats across, black poplar trees blowing on the riverbank_.

They immediately speed up towards their lone friend, muffled footsteps in the grass making their presence known. Namjoon lifts his head to look at them. Jungkook can't help but be taken aback by his appearance. His eyes are swollen and droopy; the bags underneath them indicate his exhaustion, and Jungkook can hear Jin inhale sharply at the sight of their friend. 

They stand around him now, looking down at the boy whose gaze won’t meet their eyes. He imagines how much pressure Namjoon must feel right now, the weight that must sit on his shoulders, and he no longer dares to hope for someone to make a joke. Perhaps it’s the worn-out look on Namjoon’s face, or the stressed furrow of his brows. Maybe it’s his trembling fingers, or his shaking breaths, but the group of boys seem to sense the severity of the situation, even more so than before. 

“You really have some explaining to do,” Yoongi says, and his words would sound harsh if it weren’t for the softness of his voice.

Namjoon ducks his head again like a child being scolded, but looks back up with an indiscernible emotion in his eyes. It’s then that Jungkook notices the unusual book sitting beside him on the bench. The spine looks worn, the edges of the cover frayed and bent with age. Jungkook can’t recall ever seeing a book look so badly treated. Something about it screams importance, and a thought passes his mind, for no good reason, that this book may pertain to the situation at hand. He tries to get a look at the title, but Namjoon rests his hand over it and picks it up before he can read it, meeting his eyes briefly before stuttering away.

 “I…” Namjoon starts then pauses with a conflicted expression, “I have no idea how to start explaining any of this… because it’s honestly the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, or read, in my life, and I don’t even know if it’s true but I- it’s impossible but I think it really might be real. I stood up all night trying to decide what to do, if I should tell anyone but… but I know that if I know, then you guys should know, too.”

“Namjoon... you’re making no sense,” Hoseok says, sounding worried and scared by Namjoon’s rambling.

Namjoon exhales heavily and laughs wryly, the wobbling sound lost slightly in the sudden passing of a strong breeze that causes the leaves above them to rustle and flutter to the lush grass beneath them. His grip on the book in his hands tighten, and Jungkook can just make out the title as he angles it forward.

_Omelas: A History_

 

* * *

 

  _Namjoon carries several books in his arms as he makes his way over to his usual table near the back corner of the library, where natural light filters in softly from the windows placed far from the ground. The high ceilings make room for the tall, mahogany bookshelves that line the dark stained floors. The scent of coffee floats in from the shop attached to the library, mixing with the scent of new books and dust. Namjoon comes here often, the kind librarian and abundance of books making for a quiet atmosphere where he could get his schoolwork done comfortably._

_It being summer, and the day before the festival, the library was fairly empty today. The librarian gave him a surprised look when he walk in and greeted the older woman kindly, but Namjoon had a huge summer assignment to do, and despite the insistence from his parents and friends to take a bit more leisure time, Namjoon naturally did exactly the opposite. Besides, he was actually really interested in this project, a psychology paper, and was eager to have it finished so he could be satisfied with having all of his ideas written out and proper._

_So, he sits and reads and types away on his computer until he has about 4 pages of the 10 done. What little coffee he has left has turned cold, and the bright sun has just began its descent in the sky. He begins closing up the books set out in front of him so he can head home, mind tired from the hours he’d already spent sitting still and reading._  

 _As he piles up the books, however, he notices one, a bit out of the way from his own, sitting precariously near the edge of the table. He slides the book in front of him, intrigued by its tattered state. He knew very well he didn’t mean to pick up this book, its title “Omelas: A History” did not pertain to his project at all, and he tries to remember which shelf he could have stopped at that would have resulted in this mistake, but comes up blank._  

 _Upon opening it he’s met with a table of contents that piques his curiosity. As he reads, he notices some titles that seem unfamiliar to him. He briefly wonders if it’s a story book, some of them sounding a bit silly out of context. However, one in particular pops out to him._  

 

 

 

> **_Chapter_ ** **_Page_ **
> 
> _The Child: Myth and Reality_   _10-15_

_He decidedly settles back down into his chair, closing his laptop and reading from the first page that he opens up to of that chapter._  

 

 

 

> _When Omelas was discovered in the early years of civilization, its founders immediately recognized the land to be the perfect environment to start a community. Its location by the sea, and the mountainous area that surrounded it, isolated it from outsiders and provided immediate places to hunt, fish, and grow crops. The land near the river was made fertile each time it flooded, rich soil deposits making the nomadic life unnecessary, as it created a perfect place to farm. The small group of nomads that originally arrived here eventually grew and grew, thriving quickly into a small village that was promptly named Omelas._
> 
> _THE CHILD_
> 
> _“The prosperity of Omelas rests upon the misery of one child. When a Child reaches 18 years, the new Child reaches the age of 5, and the previous one dies, hence the title of ‘The Child’. If The Child is ever shown any kindness, the perfect society of Omelas will collapse, dooming its residents to a life of turmoil equivalent to the misery the Child would have been subjected to.”_
> 
> _There are many questions that arise when looking at Omela’s past, such as: How did the citizens of Omelas first discover this system? How did they discover its credibility? The exact history remains a mystery even today, due to the practice of recording history being uncommon in that time, and so tracing the origins of this system of community has proved to be nearly impossible. Many folktales have been passed along generations to explain when and how the first knowledge of The Child came about, yet little evidence has been discovered to support any of these legends, or even the theories made by historians._
> 
> _We do, however, have some definite knowledge of The Child. There have only been a couple of recorded Children in history, though it is known that there must have been more than this according to documents that imply that the system had started long before the life of the first Child, Jeong Eun-seo. It was stated in the first recordings of this child that after the death of a Child, the new one was identified by a unique birthmark that would form in the shape of a butterfly on their hand._
> 
> _Three-year-old children would be strictly monitored around the 18 year mark, school teachers and other officials checking each child’s hands for the mark. Once identified, the next Child would then quickly be taken into custody and placed into a basement under one of the official buildings of Omelas, isolated permanently from any human contact that was unnecessary for that child’s survival._
> 
> _This system is thought to be most functional by introducing the generations to the concept as they begin to reach their teenage years. It has become a tradition to take 12 year olds to where The Child is kept and to explain to them this practice._
> 
> _By giving the younger generation this knowledge at their age, they have a choice to either accept it or to leave Omelas when they reach maturity. It is unknown, however, where the people who choose to leave go, as there seem to be no civilizations equivalent to that of Omelas anywhere else in the world._
> 
> _However, this has come under scrutiny, and some dispute that the younger generations should not find out until they reach adulthood at the age of 21. This way, citizens would be able to leave as soon they found out, rather than be tormented with this knowledge as they grow up._

_Namjoon slams the book shut and sits back in the chair, brain short-circuiting with what he just read. He stares down at it with wide eyes, still in shock, heart pounding furiously in his ribcage. The background noises of typing and flipping pages and murmurs in the café echoes queerly in his ears. He didn’t want to believe that any part of that text was true; in fact, every cell in his body seemed to resist it, but the amount of this information that coincided with the history he’d learned in school was too great to be a coincidence. He couldn’t even imagine a reason as to why someone would write such a thing if it weren’t true._

_He finds himself standing abruptly from the table, sliding the book into his bag along with his laptop, and fleeing quickly from the library, books and stale coffee still sitting on the table as he goes._

 

* * *

 

They’re all now seated in a circle on the ground, having gotten tired from standing. Once it’s obvious that Namjoon has finished retelling his story, everyone seems to be at a loss for words, eyes wide and flickering around the garden as if they’d never seen it before. Namjoon closes the book, hiding away the page that he had read aloud, and stares off into the distance with the rest of them.

There’s a long, heavy pause before Namjoon speaks again, voice trembling and quiet.

“After that, I ran home and locked myself in my room for the rest of the day. I… I wanted to read more. Of the book, you know, but I just,” he glances at everyone, looking over their faces one by one before continuing, “it was too much already. Just that part alone, and I couldn’t bring myself to look through the rest.”

Jungkook feels a shiver go down his spine, the explanation chilling him to the bone, even in the stifling heat of the summer. Despite the sun now setting low in the sky, the clouds painted red and orange, the air remains stifling. His mind desperately tries to deny the story, coming up with arguments and excuses to refute it. _This entire situation is ridiculous_ , a voice supplies, _it sounds like some silly legend people talk about around a campfire_. Yet, there’s another voice in the back of his mind, whispering to him simultaneously that this is obviously the truth, despite its irrationality and story-book-esque, a reality he and the others must face.

He blinks, and suddenly a pale hand is outstretched in front of him, silently demanding to see the book. Namjoon opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it, instead, and tentatively hands the book over to Yoongi.

Jungkook eyes the pages as Yoongi flips through them, looking first at the table of contents before flipping rapidly through each chapter. His hands stop at a random page before, he too, shuts the book and places it briskly onto the ground in front of him, withdrawing his hands so quickly, it’s almost as if he’d been burned by it.

“How are we supposed to know if that’s true,” Hoseok’s voice trembles like leaves in the wind, “Like… okay you got shaken up by it but it could just be some… some silly book someone wrote to tie myths in with history. Otherwise, why would we have never about it before?” 

“You heard what Namjoon read,” Jungkook replies instantly, “The end said that people were disputing what age people should find out. That book is so old, I wouldn’t be surprised if one side of that argument eventually won.” 

Taehyung scoffs loudly, his voice full of disbelief, “How can you guys believe any of that? The entirety of it sounds like a damn fairytale. I mean, it makes no sense. How could a whole village possibly thrive off of one kid’s sadness? It’s probably just some stupid philosophical shit someone wrote when they got bored. Besides,” he continues on, “How can we possibly depend on one book to tell the truth? What about all the other supposed documents that it speaks of?” 

“If, let’s say, this is true, and they were able to make this information inaccessible to those under 21, don’t you think they’d try to get rid of most of the books discussing it?” Jin retorts with a hint of impatience in his voice. He seems almost calm, but the hands twisting in his lap gives away his anxiety.

“Well what the hell are we supposed to do about it? Even if it is real, we don’t know where the kid is,” Yoongi speaks. 

Hoseok gapes at Yoongi, voice high pitched as he replies, “You say that as if you’d try to go and  _ free _ him, Yoongi.” 

At Yoongi’s silent glare, Hoseok nearly shouts, “You wouldn’t actually… Oh my god you’re crazy!”

“You think it’s right to let one person suffer just for the rest of us to live in leisure?” Namjoon replies vehemently, “What if that were you, or your brother, or your  _ child _ ? What if it were one of us?”

“I don’t fucking know, but I wouldn’t let the whole damn city collapse for one person!” 

“Would everyone  _ please _ calm down!” Seokjin shouts, voice booming through the chaos and effectively silencing it as he continues, “This is still all hypothetical, and yet you’re biting each others heads off as if we know anything abo-”

A loud sob rips through Seokjin’s, a choking, sorrowful sound that startles all of the boys into silence. Jungkook realizes belatedly that it’s him who made the noise as hot tears fall down his face and into his lap. He doesn’t know why he’s crying, but he can see flashes of the woman from his dream each time he blinks, and his heart breaks where it sits in his chest. He dissolves into hysterics as Taehyung wraps his arms around his friend, and the anger that had risen amongst each other dissipates as rest of the group watches on in concern and exhaustion. 

He hears them speaking, but struggles to make out the words over his crying. He hears someone mention that it’s night, and he’s struck by how long they must have sat there for, because the moon is indeed in the sky, sun having set a while ago. Taehyung helps him up as the others begin to stand, and everyone looks at one another solemnly before exiting the garden and walking home in the darkness of the night.

 

* * *

 

Jungkook settles into his bed, after shedding off everything except his boxers. He didn’t bother changing into his pajamas, was too exhausted, even, to wash away the tear tracks from his cheeks. Instead, Jungkook had gone straight to bed. Luckily, his parents were not yet home, which had allowed him to go inside without having to worry about hiding his face. Taehyung had walked him home to ensure his safety, seeing him off with a tight hug and a reminder to text him tomorrow. 

He tries to push the day out of his mind, as he pulls up the covers to his shoulders and shuts his eyes tightly. For a few minutes, he can’t stop thinking about what other earth-shattering information could possibly be in the book. At some point, though, his memories of the woman return, and he finds himself being lulled to sleep by the distant sound of her singing in his ears. He eventually gives into the exhaustion caused by today’s events, and finally falls into a fitful sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omelas remains mysterious, but at least a little more is revealed.
> 
> Meanings  
> Narcissus flowers symbolize the shortcomings of humanity and future misfortune.
> 
> Poppy flowers symbolize remembrance, death. 
> 
> Black Poplar tree brings a sense of security, but is also said to be at the gate of the Underworld, and so has negative links that can instead suggest instability of security, instead.
> 
> Follow WelcomeToOmelas on twitter for inside looks and edits into the story!


	4. The Shoreline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jungkook breathes in the salty air, watching as the ripples of the water crawl up the sand. The foundations of his world were shifting, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, about one week later, the next chapter! This is the longest one I've posted, yet. 3,300 words, baby, probably the closest to the length of chapters in published books. We gettin' there B)
> 
> Anyways, I'm not sure if I've been revealing too much information at once. I hope that everyone who is reading feels somewhat confused about some of the history and such so far. I've been trying hard to leave certain things ambiguous to reveal later, but I'm not sure I've succeeded? Right now, I hope you have been making some theories. 
> 
> This chapter reveals a good amount, really, so I hope by the end you'll really be anticipating the next chapter. 
> 
> Also, this ends my streak of switching between Jimin and Jungkook's pov's. I just don't have any more Jimin material to write about. Sorry Jimin fans, you will have to wait a bit until we see him again :(

_“I’ll never let anyone hurt you. My sweet little boy.”_

_A finger strokes over his nose, his brow bone, his temple. He tries to open his eyes but they are clouded from sleep, so all he can see is a blur of color. His lack of sight doesn’t incite any horror in him, however, for he’s surrounded by warmth. In fact, he’s perfectly content to keep his eyes closed forever just to be able stay like this.  A familiar, comforting smell wafts towards him as soft lips brush his small forehead, something floral and wild that screams femininity._

_He smiles, the action causing his chubby cheeks to bunch up under his closed eyes. Gentle fingertips graze his tiny hand and then squeeze it tightly. He squeezes back as a dulcet voice drifts sweetly around the room, tinkling as if it were carried by a soft breeze. An overwhelming emotion sits upon him, but in a pleasant sort of way. He’s happy._

_The puff of a harsh breath against his face breaks him out of his reverie. The hot air seems to weigh down the entire room as it spreads uneasily over his cheek. When it comes again, and then once more, he tries to open his heavy eyes again, confused by the sudden shift in the atmosphere. As he does so, he realizes that his mother is crying, her honeyed voice now stricken with something sharper._

_“Mom?”_

_A cold sensation overtakes his body as the touch against his hand and face fades, leaving only faint traces in their wake. Determined footsteps thump against the floor. A loud crash reverberates throughout the house. The front door is slammed open._

_“M-mom?”_

 

* * *

 

“Mom!”

Jungkook gasps harshly, eyes snapping open as his own, grating scream awakens him from his nightmare. He takes a few ragged breaths, like a man desperate for air after nearly drowning. His vision is still blurred with scenes from his nightmare, and it takes him until he can see clearly before his body realizes that he’s safe in his room. With this, his muscles unlock, and he flops back against his pillow with a relieved sigh passing through his lips. His black hair is matted stickily to his forehead, a sheen of cold sweat having settled foully on his skin.

He almost succeeds in regulating his heart beat until he sound of hurried footsteps and his door being thrown open causes him to sit straight up in bed, panic rising in him again at the sight of his mother’s terrified form standing in the doorway. He blinks, and suddenly she’s advancing towards him, frantic.

“Jungkook-ah! What’s wrong?” she speaks hurriedly as she makes her way to his bed, “Are you hurt? Wha-“

Jungkook lets out a sound of surprise as she runs up to him, hands fluttering about him in her hysteria. He quickly grabs them where they had been grasping at his face and gives a weak chuckle, holding her fingers tightly between his own. Her mussed up hair and sleep-indented face would have been amusing, if not for her obvious worry.

“Mom, it’s okay, I just… had a nightmare,” Jungkook reassures her, his cheeks gracing with a blush as soon he says it. _God_ , he thinks with his face burning, _what am I, a child?_

“Oh,” She lets out a sigh of relief at this, tensed shoulders deflating, “Oh my- You gave me a heart attack! I thought you got stabbed, or something.”

He lets out an embarrassed snort at her assumption, realizing that he must have woken her up with the volume of his scream. He feels utterly humiliated and apologetic for disturbing her, but he also can’t push away the undertone of fondness he feels knowing the extent of his mother’s care. It proves to be an easy cure for his post-nightmare jitters.

“I know, I’m so sorry. Go back to bed, Mom, I’m fine.”

The aged woman in front of him laughs a bit before sitting down on the edge of his bed, whose springs squeak noisily with the weight. She strokes her thumb across his hand lovingly, a tender expression adorning her features. The slight wrinkles around her eyes become more prominent with her gaze set in him. Her brown hair cascades down her back, slight greys adorning the color. She looks like him, in that her smile resembles a rabbit, her mouth bunching up endearingly as she speaks.

“No, no. Now that I’m awake I’ll never be able to go back to sleep. My adrenaline’s too high for that,” she jokes wryly, “Plus your father already woke me up by accident when he left for work this morning, so...”

Jungkook has to hold back a sigh at the mention of his ever-busy father. He can’t understand how a person could be so devoted to their work, but his father was like a mad man when it came to getting in as many hours as he could. It’s not even like they desperately needed the money. The man just takes his job in the government way too seriously, and was the kind of person who could throw so much of himself into his work and call that caring for his family, while simultaneously doing absolutely nothing for them. Jungkook wondered sometimes if he was actually a human, or if he was just a perfect cog to keep the machine running.

“Well,” his mother speaks again as she stands up, “I can make you some breakfast, if you want?”

Jungkook shakes his head a bit, stomach protesting the thought of food so early in the morning, “No, that’s fine. I’ll just have some cereal.”

She gives him a slightly concerned look, asking if he was sure. At his assurance, she nods at him with a sweet smile before walking out of his room, calling back to him with a quick, “I love you sweetie!”

Once she closes the door behind her, he pushes his covers off of him, feeling muggy and disgusted with himself for having not taken a shower last night, especially after having spent the entire day outside. As he sits up, the events from the day before penetrate his sleep-adled mind like a spear.

His heart stutters in his chest as he thinks back to the unnerving rattle of Namjoon’s words as he read from the decrepit old book - a book that had likely once sat inconspicuously on a library shelf, a book that has now torn down all former structure to his life.

His hand drops with a thud from where he had been pushing back his hair, and he stares down at it for a few moments as he thinks. _What the hell are we supposed to do,_ he wonders as that helpless feeling from last night returns. He has no idea whether the book had any credibility; the mere idea that something like that could happen in real life is enough to make him feel sick. He’s reminded of the Greek mythology books he had read in school. It was almost like discovering proof that Atlantis was real, but with some horrifying twist to it, like that its inhabitants had been ruthless cannibals rather than these greatly advanced, god-like people they were thought to have been.  

Jungkook scoffs weakly at the comparison, realizing that, in all its former glory, his own town would be the ‘ruthless cannibals’. His veins ignite with shame at the thought that, somewhere, a little kid could be suffering, just so he could comfortably wake up in his own perfect world.

Yet at the same time, he doesn’t truly believe that such a thing could be possible. While one side of him is quick to fall into the story, the other side of him advices skepticism. It was the same as if he was told to believe in ghosts based off of another’s account. The entirety of it could be fabricated, and he had no true evidence to follow up the book’s claims. At this point, he could read a fairy tail and deem it ‘real’. At this revelation, Jungkook begins to feel somewhat gullible for buying into everything so quickly. Was his life so boring that he had clung to this without any hesitation? He imagines Namjoon’s hysteria must have affected him, blurred his mind, or something. It wasn’t natural to believe in such a thing so readily.

He shakes his head as if that will dislodge the tortuous cycle of his thoughts, heading into his bathroom for a shower, and likely more deep thought.

 

* * *

 

_From: Taehyungie (•̀.̫•́✧ )_

_Hey feeling any better??_

 

Jungkook shrugs on a clean, white shirt along with some comfortable black sweatpants before he goes over to where his phone sits on his nightstand. The screen casts a blue glow on his face as he checks his notifications, and he can’t help but feel surprised at the textbox in front of him. He reads Taehyung’s text with a sort of bitterness and, despite not wanting to worry him, replies with the truth.

 

_To: Taehyungie (•̀.̫•́✧ )_

_idk, not really_

_From: Taehyungie (•̀.̫•́✧ )_

_Do you wanna talk about it?_

 

He sighs, remembering Taehyung’s words last night. His friend had been in complete disbelief of Namjoon’s tale, looking upon the book as if it were fraudulent, a result of someone’s boredom. Jungkook wants to scoff when remembering his vehement argument, but is struck with the realization that Taehyung’s reaction was much more realistic than his own resignation.

 

_To: Taehyungie (•̀.̫•́✧ )_

_do you still think it’s fake, tae?_

_From: Taehyungie (•̀.̫•́✧ )_

_…_

_I don’t know, Kookie._

_I don’t know._

 

Jungkook understands, because he can’t yet bring himself to fully believe it, either, but he also refuses to brush it off as folktale. Despite being disturbed by his own readiness, the voice that opposes all logic whispers to him ardently that he needs to go find proof, now, rather than wait any longer. He knows that he can’t give it time. If he tries to ignore it, the voice will only grow in volume. He needs to know for sure, and, even if his other friends won’t agree with him, he needs to do something if everything Namjoon had read _was_ true.

He thinks back to every history class he’d ever had, but for the life of him can’t remember ever being suspicious of anything he’d learned in those hours. How much had truly been omitted from his school textbooks?

He opens up a different conversation, typing out a quick text.

 

_To: Namjoon-hyung_

_hyung_

_can we talk about the thing._

_alone?_

_From: Namjoon-hyung_

_Meet me on the beach._

_I’ll bring breakfast._

 

It takes just that for him to hastily step into his shoes, without even lacing them, and run out of the house before his mother can say a word.

He rushes down the street, taking turn after turn without so much of a glance to his surroundings. He only halts once he passes through the town square, the sight of the golden fountain, clear and bright as ever, catching his eye. Even with the overcast sky, the surface practically glows among the cobblestone roads and brick buildings. Though he once felt admiration for the structure, he now feels disdain building up in him as he watches the light hit the still water, the still pennies, the still gold. He watches it all ripple as people toss in their wishes and carry on, and he fights back the urge to damn it all.

He eventually continues on, walking down the streets that bustle with people who are on their way to help clean up the results of the festival. He finally comes onto one of the quieter suburban streets, isolated nicely from the rest of the town. The sidwalk sections off into a playground and opens back up into its own miniature beach, too small to gain any attention from beach-goers. It’s situated behind the backyards of some houses and sits just outside of the forest, completely enclosing it off from outsiders. Jungkook can’t really remember how he and his friends found it in the first place, but it became their go-to for late night friend group meetings and such.

He steps onto the beach, walking past a man sitting on the sand with his dog, and disappears into some of the brush. On the other side of the tall bushes emerges an even tinier section of beach. Here, the trees and shrubs completely enclose a part of the sand and tide that Jungkook and his friends had long since claimed to be their own. A couple of ratty old couches sat under a tree where the sand finally faded into grass and dirt, a tarp resting them to protect them from the weather. He remembers the day they had dragged them out here, too, when Yoongi and Hoseok had finally made enough money to replace the ugly furniture in their shared apartment. Rather than throw out the couches, however, Jungkook had the brilliant idea to move them out here so that they wouldn’t have to sit on the ground.

Many of their days were spent here, lazing around and acting like fools. At night, they’d start a small campfire and drink whatever beer his hyungs had gotten their hands on. Those nights were always full of laughter and mischief, and more often than not ended in the boys falling asleep in an odd pile of bodies on the worn material of the couches. When they weren’t idling about, they would often wander around the forest that the beach led into. They would spring around the thickly wooded area with delight as the sun shone through the canopy of leaves and branches above them, onto the soft forest ground.

The farthest that they had ever gone was where the golden fences of Omelas cut through, and despite there being more forest ahead of that barrier, the boys never dared try to go over it. Jungkook had always wondered how their ancestors were able to build that fence completely around their village, but had never received any clear answer when voicing his curiosity, and so gave up on trying to understand it. He just knew that crossing them was an unthinkable act, a sentiment that he and his friends silently agreed on for reasons unknown.

Upon stepping into the clearing, he sees Namjoon sitting on one of the couches, tarp tossed aside in a bundle of canvas on the messy grass. He looks just as tired as yesterday, purple bags caved deeply under his eyes, but the puffiness has gone down quite a bit. He seems to be relaxed against the back of the couch, green flannel bunched up under him, rather than slouched rigidly forward as he had been in the garden.

Namjoon meets his eyes with a tired smile, his dimples prominent and happy in contrast to his general appearance.

 “Hey, Kook,” he says roughly, the sound of the sea nearly drowning him out. He lifts up a bag in greeting, and as Jungkook sits down on the other end of the couch, the smell of food wafts towards him. “I brought bacon egg and cheese bagels.”

Jungkook smiles at his hyung’s thoughtfulness, and gratefully unwraps his bagel when Namjoon hands it to him. They eat in careful silence, staring out at the horizon as the tide rolls in and creeps away again. He, too, can’t help but relax out here, thankful for the momentary distraction that the ocean provides.

Eventually, however, their chewing slows, and they roll up their wrappers to deposit into the plastic bag Namjoon had brought them in. After dusting off their hands and tying up the bag, they sit for a few moments in suspended silence, reluctant to begin the conversation that lies ahead of them.

Jungkook is first to break the silence, “Did you bring the book with you?” he asks.

Namjoon picks up his bag from the side of the couch, wordlessly pulling out said object and handing it to him. Jungkook takes it into his hands, fingers buzzing as he holds the withered history book in his hands. He turns towards Namjoon on the couch, resting it on his lap.

“Have you read anything else yet, hyung?”

Namjoon shakes his head as he turns towards him, too, “No, not yet.” He now looks down at the book with the same curiosity Jungkook feels, but also with a hint of dread at what else the book could reveal to them.

“Hyung, I- I want to see if this can tell us where The Child is being kept…” Jungkook says tentatively, testing for Namjoon’s reaction. As expected, he seems a bit taken aback by it, but his face doesn’t convey the same bewilderment Hoseok’s may have. Instead, he seems somewhat relieved that someone else thought of finding The Child, too. Jungkook adds on swiftly, “I also want to see if there’s anything else that can prove it. Prove that The Child is real, and not just some myth.”

His friend nods his understanding, “I think we should look for something like that, too. That way we know that it’s serious before we go searching for something that’s not there.”

They both look down at the book again as Jungkook gently opens it, turning to the table of contents to start his search.

 

* * *

 

It’s takes about a half an hour of flipping and reading through material that they are already familiar with to reach unfamiliar information. At this point, Jungkook begins to leaf through the pages with more caution, two pairs of eyes scanning over the text like hawks, looking for anything that could serve as some sort of validation. They stop a couple of times to read sections that look more promising, but continue on when they are met with disappointment. Jungkook nearly gives up as the minutes tick by tortuously slow, until-

“Wait, right there!”

Jungkook halts his flipping at Namjoon’s sudden exclamation, releasing the page that he had pinched between his fingers. Namjoon eagerly points to a paragraph once the page settles down, finger landing just above a line that he prompts Jungkook to read aloud. He gives the inked page a quick once over before reading.

 “One of the most notorious transplantations of a Child recorded to this date is that of the current Child, Park Jimin. His capture on the 5th of May involved one of the most violent altercations that the CDS, or the Child Defense Services, has ever been involved in. According to police reports, the mother of the Child, Park Hye-yun, began acting violently once CDS agents arrived on the scene to transport Park Jimin to their facility. She was shot and killed after attempting to attack one of the agents with a kitchen knife, and received a government-funded funeral.”

 Jungkook pulls his finger away, breathing in shakily at the content of the paragraph. There’s a tension around them that seems to shudder with every exhale between the two boys.

“The CDS…” Namjoon speaks, “isn’t that-”

“Who my dad works for. Yeah.”

The silence that comes after that is heavy. The sound of the crashing waves and blowing wind grows fuzzy as Jungkook pieces everything together. The whispered arguments between his parents that stopped abruptly as soon as he entered the room. His mother’s indignant voice muttering that, _‘He should know, they all should.’_

His father’s hasty reply of, _‘They don’t have that right, not according to the law.’_

His mind hurts, and an unfamiliar feeling erupts from his core like a cypress tree hard in the ground. Was it true his father could be involved with such people? He knows the man is emotionally detached but… Jungkook looks to Namjoon, the light reflected in his eyes rendering his friend’s gaze sympathetic. The book sits between them, open pages rustling in the ocean breeze. He speaks quietly, almost as quietly as the woman in his dreams.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Jungkook.”

 Jungkook nods, his hair brushing over his eyes with another gust of wind as if to say, ‘ _I know.’_ He does know this, but he also knows that he has to do something.

“Can we call the others?”

“Of course,” Namjoon assures.

Jungkook breathes in the salty air, watching as the ripples of the water crawl up the sand. The foundations of his world were shifting, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please comment your thoughts, I really appreciate any kind of feedback you have for me!
> 
> Follow WelcomeToOmelas on twitter for inside looks and edits into the story!


	5. The Graveyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His gaze lowers back down to his friends, whose expressions are crumpled and full of pity.
> 
> “Jungkook?” 
> 
> The ground underneath him is soft, the air is cool, the tree against his back catches on his hoodie as he shifts, and the birds warble on without a care in the world. He grips his own fingers in his hand as the sound of a lullaby starts up from nothing in his ears, faint and eerily soothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been about a month since my last update. I just wanna apologize because I promised to try and stay on a schedule but, you know, life is crazy sometimes and I just could never get to finishing it, only adding on here and there. To make up for it, this chapter is like 6,000 words long. I'm sorry about any errors with grammar or spelling, I'll probably fix them after I post this. I just can't read over this again. My brain is too messy. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

Jungkook returns home smelling of salt water, his hair tousled with the ocean breeze. After Namjoon had called the others, the two waited uneasily for their friends to make their way to the beach, one by one.

Taehyung was first to arrive, entering from the dense forest where he had previously been strolling around in thought. His dirty blonde hair looked like a mess atop his head, and the loose clothing he wore made him look as if he just rolled out of bed. His feet were bare, a point Jungkook noticed when he saw the pair of brown oxfords in his hand. It made him remember the times they’d ventured off in the forest together, how Taehyung would take off his shoes because he liked how the forest floor felt against his soles. He had always looked so happy those days spent in nature, a content expression gracing his face. Yet, at that moment, he had looked at Jungkook with a timid smile and melancholy eyes, as if to test the waters of their standing. When Jungkook smiled back, though small, they immediately knew that they were okay.

Still, while the apprehension melted away, Jungkook could see the anxiety remain. It was laced into his body language, in the way Taehyung sat on the sand and let the water lick up his legs.

Seokjin arrived shortly after Taehyung, silent but seemingly prepared for the talk that was bound to come. He looked as scholarly as ever, except his glasses were crooked on his face, and it was clear by the indentations left on his cheek that he had slept in late. This, in itself, told just how he’d been affected.  As the oldest, he was also the most punctual in their group, and always woke up early in the morning to start his day. The three boys glanced at one another worriedly, but quickly looked away at their hyung’s pointed look.

It was Hoseok’s entrance that had been slightly confusing. He and Yoongi live together, and so Jungkook naturally had expected him to arrive with the smaller boy. That was, until he recalled how they had been on opposite sides of the argument the night before. There was obvious tension between the two when Yoongi finally arrived, grumbling about how his nap had been interrupted for this. It had been awkward, and the exhausted atmosphere that hung over them had made the conversation hard to start up. Of course, it started all the same.

_“I’ll never be okay with knowing that we’re all prancing around, living life, while some random little kid has been growing up alone and in misery,” Yoongi states, faint yet firmly._

_“This is ridiculous and you all know it,” Taehyung starts, an intense look shadowing his eyes, “Not only do we have no proof that this could be real, but we also have no idea what the consequences of freeing this kid are. I mean, that damned book literally said our society would collapse if we ‘free the child’, or whatever that means, and for some reason you all wanna do it, anyways!”_

_The others look at him for a moment, silent in their shame. It was true, of course. Although every one of the boys had indeed wondered just what the collapse of their society meant, none of them voiced it, in fear of whatever answers could come of it. Would the peaceful atmosphere of Omelas be broken? Would the town itself crumble, their crops die and their cattle go barren? The most extreme of possibilities was was that, by some odd events, everyone in the town would die. No, there was no need to say it out loud, it was the glaze of their eyes that conveyed to one another this shared concern._

_“And we don’t even know if it’s a child. By now they could be our age, and we have no idea how ‘human’ they really are. Think about it, we’d be risking everything for someone who’d be absolutely crazy,” Taehyung adds on, words matter-of-fact, but lacking venom._

_“You’re right,” Namjoon says, “They’re not a child. His name is Park Jimin, and he’s seventeen years old, now.”_

_The entire group, save for Jungkook, snaps their heads to Namjoon, wondering how he knew such information, who raises the book in explanation._

_“I looked at the publishing date. The book was made after he was captured. They killed his mother in front of him on the same day that they took him. He was only five. This was published two years after that. Now he’s seventeen, and in a year, or maybe even less, this book says he’s going to die. Do you know what that means?” Namjoon looks around the group like a lecturer, eloquent yet straightforward. No one speaks, but they all understand where this is leading._

_“Another kid is going to get taken,” Jungkook supplies, fire fueling his words, “Another kid will be taken, and we’ll have known and done nothing to stop it. It could be one of those kids you babysit, Hoseok-hyung, or it could be Seokjin’s little cousin, or it could be one of the children on any of our blocks-”_

_“I get it!” Hoseok shouts, exasperated, “But we still don’t know what we’re risking! How can we destroy our entire town for one child?”_

_Jungkook stands from his place in the sand, head bowed and arms stiff with intimidation._

_“We know for sure that a child will get captured if we do nothing. We know! But we don’t know what will happen if we set the current one free. Maybe it’ll break whatever fucking curse is on this town. Maybe there won’t ever be another Child!”_

_“Or maybe,” Hoseok stresses, “We’ll all die!”_

_“Hoseok!” Namjoon shouts their names before lowering his voice, “Jungkook, we can’t yell like this. We don’t know… we don’t know who could hear.”_

_There’s a wavering moment of paranoia as some look out into the trees and some glance over to the bushes before Jungkook nods and unclenches his fists._

_“We have never been outside of these gates,” he almost whispers, “Don’t you think that’s weird? Don’t you think… don’t you think that there’s anything else out there? People like us? Civilizations like us? We don’t have to live like this, if we free the Child then maybe there’s somewhere else to go. Maybe that’s what we’re meant to do.”_

_No one says a word, once again, but this notion burrows itself into their chests and festers. They shift in trepidation, bones and hearts heavy with each rush of water that crawls onto the sand. Jin fiddles at his glasses, straightening them out and sending an unreadable glance to Namjoon. Jungkook feels his hairs stand and his body shiver, an abrupt wave of exhaustion invisibly weighs him down, and he drops back into the sand with his hands pressed to his eyes. He can feel the lingering stare of his friends on him, and ignores it in favor of pressing against his eyelids._

_“We can’t do anything until we know this is real. How do we know this is real?”_

_Jungkook raises his head, drooping eyes examining Hoseok’s closed-off form. There’s a pause in which Namjoon looks to Jungkook for permission to speak, and he nods shortly before he goes on._

_“Jungkook’s dad works for the people in charge of detaining and holding the Child.”_

_Seokjin’s head cocks to the side in question, “The CDS? But I thought they just dealt with foster children?”_

_“They do both, apparently. If Jimin is real, then that means that his mother would have a grave somewhere. It says here that they gave her a government-funded funeral, so he has no other family that is alive to contact. We have her name, and the date that she died. That’s enough to go ahead and look her up in the burial records. If we can’t find her like that…” Namjoon hesitates to continue, eyes flickering towards Jungkook._

_“Then I’ll go through my dad’s files.”_

_A disquieted murmur spreads throughout the group at these words, Taehyung especially looking worried. They all know just how strained, or, rather, nonexistent, Jungkook’s relationship with his father is. They’d visited his house, noticed the domineering man’s absence more than once. If he ever caught Jungkook rifling through his stuff… well, he’d surely react badly._

_There was also the fact that Jungkook would have to explain why he was looking through his encrypted emails and locked cabinets if he was caught. If he told the truth, his father probably wouldn’t hesitate to have him, or his friends, jailed. If he lied, he had the feeling that his father’s omniscient eyes would see right through him, anyways._

_In the end, the group says nothing to dispute it, silently agreeing on the course of action. Nearing dinner time, they all depart, hugging one another tightly before heading home. When Hoseok quietly asks to come with them to search the burial records, it almost doesn’t come as a surprise._

_“I can’t make a decision like this without any proof,” he had said._

_Jungkook, Hoseok, and Namjoon agree to go check them on Tuesday, two days from now, and then have everyone meet up afterwards in the garden._

Now, Jungkook toes his shoes off at the front door, following the smell of food to the kitchen. There, his mom is working over the stove, steam from a pot of soup billowing up in front of her. When she turns to look at him, a frown appears on her face.

“Jungkook, where were you? You should have at least let me know where you were going before running out like that,” she scolded him, a stern expression on her face.

Jungkook ducks his head in shame. Right, he had kinda forgotten about that.

“Sorry mom, I was just hanging out with my friends by the beach.”

She gives a sort of dissatisfied huff at his answer, “Well, let me know next time you go running out of the house. Now go set the table, your father came home on time for once, so set out a place for him, too.”

If she notices Jungkook pause, she doesn’t comment on it as she goes back to cooking. _His father is home?_ It fills him with a sense of unease. It’s not that his dad never came home early, or, rather, on time, but such days were few and far apart. It was how Jungkook and his mother knew that it’d been a hard day at work, too stressful for his father to stay the long hours he usually did.

Unfortunately, with his father’s early arrival would also come a sour mood. Their dinners that night would be startlingly quiet. Whereas Jungkook and his mother would usually engage in casual and joyful conversation, both would suddenly grow speechless in fear of setting off his father’s temper. The last time he came home on time, there had been a huge fight between he and his mother. Jungkook couldn’t remember for the life of him how it started, but he could confidently say that it was most likely over something trivial. Somehow, the man always found something to complain about, some imperfection to pick at.

Despite this, Jungkook knows his mom enjoys her husband’s presence all the same. She cherishes every moment that they spend together as a family, even if they are ridden with a depressing stiffness. He can’t help but feel pity for his hopeful mother, but all Jungkook can do is continue to set the table in loathsome anticipation for what is to come, stomach lurching as he places out an extra set of forks and knives.

“Jungkook-ah. Take out the trash.”

The deep voice startles him out of his reverie. His body jerks hard enough to make his hip slam forward into the table, causing him to nearly cut himself on the knife he was setting down in his father’s spot.

He turns almost comically slow to look said man in the eyes. His father’s stoic face glares down at him, one eyebrow arched dangerously on his forehead in a sort of challenge. Jungkook can’t help but stand rooted in his spot, eyes wide and hip bruised.

“Now.”

The tone of his voice leaves no room for resistance, not that Jungkook would have bothered defying him. The way his thin lips form around the word screams authority, and it sends Jungkook scuttling over to get the job done. He’s hardly able to hide the shake of his arms as he pulls the trash bag out of the can and steps outside into the brisk night air. His mother’s back stands stiffly over the counter as he exits.

 

-

 

It’s safe to say that dinner was an ordeal he’d prefer not to repeat. After Jungkook had taken out the trash, he walked inside to see his father already seated, a newspaper hovering tall in front of him. His shoulders were set straight against the back of his chair, neck rigid and strained with stress.

Jungkook helped his mother set out all of the side dishes onto the table before both seated themselves, waiting for the man at the head of the table to put down his newspaper before they ate. With every bite of food Jungkook took, he chewed silently, staring down at the table cloth ahead of him. His father knocked down every attempt at conversation his mother made, replying shortly and sometimes with dismissing grunts. At his mother’s inquiry about how work was going, Jungkook couldn’t help the way his hand tightened around his chopsticks and fumbled as he moved to piled more food onto his plate. He nearly knocked over his cup, garnering a disapproving glare from his father’s cold eyes before the man looked away and deflected that question, too.

After that, his mother had given up and resigned herself to eating quietly until his father finished his meal and left to his office, empty plate sitting on the table.

One could assume that Jungkook never had never truly had a father figure, and they’d be right. His father had his position in the government for the entirety of Jungkook’s life, and had always had this strange devotion to it that consequently estranged him from his family. Perhaps this was a sad thing, but for Jungkook, he was indifferent. He had never known a relationship with his father in the first place, and couldn’t miss what had never been.

Still, seeing his father always stirs some kind of emotion in his gut. He’s not sure it can be called longing, but Jungkook can almost imagine what it might be like if his father smiled at him, even once. He can picture his cold aura as a warm one, a world where perhaps the stoic man played with him as a child and asked him how school was. It is not longing, but perhaps some detached form of that. He knows that wishing for that world is pointless, so he doesn’t. Instead, he simply imagines it, building up the fictional reality in his mind.

His father’s disapproving stare appearing in his mind quickly chase those thoughts away.

 

-

 

Tuesday comes rather quickly after that Sunday.

Both of his parents are at work, as is usual for the weekdays. Jungkook didn’t really get much sleep, having passed out at 5am the night before, kept awake by the prospect that they could find nothing or, even more frighteningly, something. When he finally did sleep, he was plagued by nightmares.

_Cold eyes staring ahead. A gun raising, meeting a woman’s forehead. A child’s scream muffled by a gunshot._

Jungkook tries not to think about how the fingers curled around the gun resembled his father’s, or how his hard eyes ignited the same fear in him as the man’s in his dreams did. Instead, he quickly makes his way to the cafe where he, Namjoon, and Hoseok had agreed to meet. He throws on a black hoodie along with a green knitted beanie he’d gotten last Christmas as, upon walking outside, he realizes the air is surprisingly cool for a midsummer’s day. The sky is slightly overcast, but not enough so to completely blanket the sun, creating a sort of milky look to his surroundings. It reminds him of the change of the days as winter melted into spring. Of course, it is somewhat worrying, but he supposed such things happen now and then.

When he makes his way to the cafe, he’s met with a bustling atmosphere. The joint is very popular, especially amongst teenagers and young adults in the area, and for good reason. One was immediately attracted to the soothing, brown palette that made up the color scheme.The place seemed to glow onto the cobblestone roads outside, luring in hipsters with its aesthetic and caffeine-lovers with the rich scent of coffee beans and tea leaves.  With the sight of polished wood and small green potted plants hanging on the walls, it was easy to sit with friends and simply talk. Jungkook and his friends came here every now and then, just to spend time together on the days where it was too cold to visit their hideout on the beach. Jungkook understands the change in scenery, but also can’t change the feeling that, by coming here to discuss the Child, yet another safe space is being violated.

He ends up having to push his way through the front door because of the mass of people inside. Luckily, he spots his friends in the corner table, situated on a level slightly higher than the rest. He makes his way up the short staircase to them, and settles down in the leather booth next to Hoseok, where an extra coffee cup sits for him.

“Hey,” he greets his friends and gestures to the cup questioningly, “Chai latte?”

“Yeah, sorry if you wanted something else, I know you don't like coffee,” Namjoon replies, his thick-lensed glasses sitting precariously close to the tip of his nose. His fingers were clutched around his own coffee cup, absorbing its heat greedily due to the breeze drifting in from the open front door.

Jungkook shrugs, “No, it’s okay. This is fine.”

Hoseok sends him a lopsided sort of smile from his side and takes a long drink from his own cup. Jungkook notices the curve of his hand around the drink and how the sun glimpses upon a red patch of the skin. He averts his eyes quickly, mind ticking with thought. He’s known Hoseok all his life. He was never prone to violence, but back in middle school, he had a bad habit of hurting himself. Jungkook recalls the times where Hoseok’s fingers would be raw from biting at the dead skin. How he would scratch at the back of his hand hard enough to break skin. It was the product of anxiety, Jungkook knew, but he never realized it was still a problem. _Or_ , Jungkook thinks, _it came back_ . He feels a ping of guilt for burdening his friend like this. _Of course Hoseok would react badly,_ a voice reprimands, _you should have-_

“So.”

Jungkook looks up to where Namjoon’s eyebrows quirk up under his beanie.

“So?” he replies.

Namjoon sets his hand on the table for a moment, fidgeting with his phone a bit before speaking. His forehead wrinkles slightly, mouth quirking up when he continues, “There’s only one cemetery she can be in. I um–I did some research and apparently they only have government-funded funerals in East Side Cemetery.”

“Well, that makes things easier.”

“Yeah, so all we have to do is go to the burial archives and look up her name.”

“Um,” Jungkook adds, “What do we do if someone catches us looking her up?”

The other boys process this for a moment, silence washing over them. In the background, cups clank and people continue chatting on. The door at the front of the shop creaks as another gust blows in.

“Then we can just say we were looking for someone else. My mom’s friend has the last name Park as well,” Namjoon shrugs, “We’ll just say we were looking for one of the family friend’s relatives to pay respect, or something.”

Hoseok lets out a shuddering breath before nodding his okay. Jungkook feels his fingers start to get cold as the wind blows even harder into the cafe. Finally, a worker who’d probably had enough complaints comes and pushes the door shut. The bell rings harshly as it closes.

 

-

 

The graveyard is a sea of stone, the hills of grass a mosaic of headstones, some tall and polished, some short and cracked. They walk up a path leading to the center of the yard where a stone building resembling a large mausoleum sits.

Jungkook looks around him, the overcast sky adding to the gloomy atmosphere. His eyes catch on the huge monuments they pass by, angels draped over headstones and great, towering columns made of a darker grain than the rest. Jungkook shivers a little, hand clutching at the long sleeve of his hoodie.

 _It’s kind of surreal that we’re walking by hundreds of dead bodies,_ he thinks to himself, _it doesn’t feel like it._ He suppresses the urge to voice this, instead keeping quiet until they reach the stone base of the archive’s stairs. The clunking of their shoes echoes eerily as they climb up and enter into the cold establishment. A small lobby area greets them there, the sleek interior imposing its frigidness. The floor is sleek and tiled, with darker brown leather benches on each wall. Small red carpets and white irises adorn the space, as well, giving it all a formal look. In the center of it all is a stained glass window carved into the wall above the desk of the archival manager. The sun shines through it, making the dove that is depicted glow in a sort of ethereal way.

Jungkook squints, temporarily blinded by the vibrant rays of light. He blinks the dots out of his eyes, the dove with an olive branch in its beak reappearing and eventually fading each time. A shiver runs down his spine. _It’s so cold in here._

Namjoon briefly looks back at him and Hoseok before walking up to the desk. There, an elderly man sits, pencil scratching against what seems to be a word search in hand. His face is wilting with age, the pores of his nose large and the wrinkles by his eyes more pronounced than anything. He has little tufts of white hair left on his head, thin enough to reveal the age spots scattered over his scalp. Jungkook thinks briefly that the man must be miserable. How happy could an old person be working a boring job at a graveyard, with the constant reminder of death around? Yet, when the man notices their presence, he recieves them with such a warm smile that Jungkook is almost knocked off his feet in his surprise.

“Hello there, kids, how can I help you today?” he asks with a waning and used voice.

“We’re just here to visit a friend’s grave, but we forgot the grave’s location. Could you search it up for us?” Namjoon replies kindly. He sounds incredibly composed, and looks it, too. The guy really knows how to keep up appearances, but Jungkook can see how he shakes his sleeves down to cover his wrists, a small mannerism of his that conveys his nervousness.

The man sits up, setting aside his word search in order to turn on the ancient computer next to him. His fingers shake slightly as the computer comes to life, making creaking noises with its age.

“Of course,” he says, “I will just need to know the name and date of the person’s birthday or death. Or, if you happen to know both, that’d be even better.”  

“We only know their name and death, actually. Park Hye-yun, May 5th?”

Jungkook feels his heart stop when the man’s hands still and lift from their place at the keyboard, blue eyes narrowing into slits as he gazes at Namjoon with an indecipherable look. A bead of sweat drips down his back, and wow, just a moment ago he’d been freezing. _When did it get so hot in here?_ Namjoon’s hands release his sleeves, and he hears Hoseok’s intake of breath next to him.

Suddenly, the man’s eyes flicker back to him, and his thoughts stutter, along with what feels like all of his vital functions. _Oh my god,_ he thinks, _oh my god he knows. He can see how red I am and he knows, we’re so fu-_

“Ah, that name sounds oddly familiar,” the elderly voice cuts through Jungkook’s panic, “Did she happen to work at a deli by any chance?”

_What?_

“Yes, I think she may have, actually. To be honest, we didn’t know her all that well. She’s more of a distant family friend.”

Jungkook is barely able to restrain the amazed look he sends his friend. He stares at the side of Namjoon’s face, which is set in a politely blank front. _How the hell_ , his mind supplies, _what the fuck?_ The only hint of triumph on the boy’s face is the slight quirk of his lips, the rest of him utterly unperturbed. _My friend is a badass._

The archival manager hums a bit before turning back to the computer and feebly typing in the information Namjoon had given him. There’s a halt after he clicks enter, and the noisy computer’s clamor starts up again at it processes the request.

 _“_ SD, R19, 23,” the man says, “That’s section D, row 19, grave number 23. Would you like me to write it down for you?”

Namjoon shakes his head already retreating backwards as he speaks, “No, no, we’ll be fine. Thank you so much!”

Jungkook adds on his own goodbye as the man waves his farewell to them. They all turn around quickly, feet scuffing the floor as they walk briskly out. The wind splashes against their faces kindly when they exit. The door thuds closed heavily behind them as they hurry down the steps and speed walk a reasonable distance away. Jungkook and Namjoon eventually slow, but startle as Hoseok ploughs through them and pulls ahead.

Jungkook looks over to Namjoon, whose face likely mirrors his own in that moment, a simple expression of ‘ _Oh shit’_ that has the two immediately running after Hoseok.

“Hoseok, wait up!”

“Oh my god,” Hoseok huffs breathlessly as he practically runs on, face tinted a tomato red and hair flopping around madly as he chants, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my go-”

“Stop!” Jungkook cries out as he grabs at Hoseok’s shoulder to pull him back.

“Don’t!” Jungkook jumps back at the animosity of his friend’s voice as he rips his shoulder out of his grasp, “Do not fucking touch me!”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in surprise as he takes a step back, retracting his hand in bewilderment.

“Hoseok… hey-”

“No! We almost got fucking caught! If he had… if…”

Spit flies from his mouth as he cuts off Namjoon, when, suddenly, he trails off, debilitated by his own heavy breathing. Jungkook and Namjoon watch as he bends over, braces his hands on his knees for support, and the collapses forward onto the ground with a thud.

“Fuck!” Namjoon blurts. The two boys rush forward to their friend, who sits on the cemetery path with his head bowed and hands gripping the dirt underneath him. The fire has drained from his composure, leaving behind a cold and quivering anxiety. He inhales unsteadily until his breath is cut off by a sickening hacking noise. Jungkook settles his hand on his back as the boy’s body convulses and dry heaves.

“It’s okay Hobi, it’s gonna be okay,” Namjoon mutters comfortingly on his other side.n

Jungkook looks over at him and sees how his own face, though sounding so sure, is screwed up with a similar anxiety. Namjoon glances briefly up, eyes shining with worry and an indescribably deep fear. Something about the moment settles precariously in the back of his mind, a situation that would serve to be a glaring memory of the turning points in their journey.

Finally, Hoseok lifts his head, settles back onto his feet and moving his hands onto his thighs. Beads of sweat travel down his neck and forehead washing away the panic and leaving an empty feeling in their wake. Jungkook reaches over and pushes the red locks of hair off of his forehead.

“Thanks,” Hoseok whispers, “I’m sorry for snapping at you like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I know this is really hard. It’s hard for us, too,” Namjoon’s face flashes in his mind, “but we’re okay right now. We haven’t been caught. The hardest part is over, now we just have to go find the grave and get the proof we need.”

Hoseok nods, taking a deep breath before standing up on shaky knees. Jungkook and Namjoon keep their arms out, bracing to catch him if he falls. On the contrary, Hoseok straightens out and dusts himself off before sending each of them a weak smile.

“Alright,” Namjoon breathes, “Section A is to the left over there, and section B is across from it, so section D must be over there.”

He points out to the right of the archives building, the area further back into the graveyard where some of the older and cheaper graves sit among the trees leading into the dense forest.  

“Okay, we have to go back, the entrance was behind the archives. You okay with that Hobi?”

Hoseok nods, and so they turn back around and set course for the archives building again. They reach it without problem, carrying on along the path around it that leads on behind it. Across from each other are the entrances for sections C and D, both with their own paths leading up to fields full of graves. They turn into the towering archway with the letter of Park Hye-yun’s section on it. As they walk, they find themselves turning left onto a path that begins looking more and more unkept as they go. Eventually, they make their way to where the trees grow between the rows of headstones, rows going up in number until they finally reach row 19.

They stop uncertainly here, looking out into the mesh of trees and stone with hesitation. Jungkook slowly steps off the path, curving himself around the base of a tree and then down the row of graves.

_1, 2, 3, 4_

His friends behind him do the same, hands grasping onto the rough bark to keep steady as they maneuver around the tree. Their toes catch painfully on the roots, one of which has grown through a worn away headstone and caused it to crack down the middle.

_9, 10, 11, 12_

The soft ground squishes beneath their feet, moist due to the canopy of leaves above blocking out most sunlight. The shade makes the weather feel even cooler, and Jungkook would be shivering if it weren’t for all the walking he’d been doing.

_13, 14, 15, 16_

The trio slows down even more as they come closer to their target. The names pass by in a blur, text eroded away to almost flat slabs of stone.

_21, Kim Yoo-yeon, April 12th - May 25th_

_22_ , _Cha Da-san, January 17th - June 3rd_

_23, Min Hyeon-Jung, December 30th - February 28th_

They stop.

“What?”

Jungkook blinks, but the name remains. He blinks again, keeping his eyes shut longer, but the name is still there. Everything is quiet for a few moments as they stand confounded by the sight of the headstone. _Park Hye-yun’s name is not on it._ A bird trills somewhere in the trees.

“That- he…,” Hoseok breathes, looking around the area as if to find something, some explanation hidden away, “he said 23 didn’t he? We all remember he said grave number 23?”

Jungkook takes a step from the grave and examines the row, checking once again that this, the grave of a Min Hyeon-Jung, was in fact number 23.

“Maybe this is the wrong row?” Namjoon offers from behind him.

They all go back to the end of the row to check, pace much faster compared to when they first walked up. A post with the number 19 on it greets them, and they share a collective sigh upon seeing it. Hoseok plops on the ground there, and Jungkook finds himself backing into the large tree trunk. He tips his head back against it, trying to muddle through his thoughts. _She’s not here. Could it be that she doesn’t exist? No. No, she definitely does. Otherwise, her name and date of death wouldn’t have shown up in the system at this grave. But… then why is someone else’s grave here?_

“Maybe she’s really buried here, and they just used a different headstone to hide her location after the law was passed?” Namjoon says, his statement an uncanny continuation of Jungkook’s own thoughts.

“Why would they do that?” Hoseok questions.

“Well, it would help hide proof of her identity, and therefore the Child’s identity, from people like us. If someone came looking for proof that the Child was real, this would make it look like it was all made up.”

“Right,” Hoseok elaborates, “so then if someone found a book, like us, they’d write it off as being fairytale after all.”

“Yes, but do you know what we have that others don’t?”

“What?”

“Me.”

The two boys look over to Jungkook, who now sits on the ground with his back against the tree. The leaves cast splotches of shadows across his downturned face. He looks almost peaceful in that moment–closed eyes, deep breathing, lolling shoulders. But then he sits up straight, and a gust of wind reveals the furrow in his brows as he opens his eyes.

“My connection to the government,” he clarifies, “I can find out if they changed the headstone or if they moved her grave or something.”

Hoseok manages to look taken aback despite knowing that this is what it would ultimately come to if all else failed. He leans forward a bit, trying to catch Jungkook’s averted eyes.

“You don’t have to do anything Jungkook. You don’t.” he urges.

In the distance, a bird calls out. The leaves rustle above them, and for a moment, just for a moment, Jungkook could swear he hears the hoot of an owl. His head snaps toward the noise, trying to pinpoint its direction. But the forest has already absorbed it. Instead, he catches sight of a pair of thrushes hopping around on a tree branch.

His gaze lowers back down to his friends, whose expressions are crumpled and full of pity.

“Jungkook?”

The ground underneath him is soft, the air is cool, the tree against his back catches on his hoodie as he shifts, and the birds warble on without a care in the world. He grips his own fingers in his hand as the sound of a lullaby starts up from nothing in his ears, faint and eerily soothing.

“No,” he says as the image from his dreams ripples behind his eyes, “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that such archives at graveyards don’t exist but I imagined that in such a small, isolated civilization that that method of keeping records would work. 
> 
> Anyways I hope you liked it! Please comment any feedback you have, I really like reading it. Thank you!
> 
> Follow WelcomeToOmelas on twitter for inside looks and edits into the story!


	6. The Files

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gears in Jungkook’s head shift the slightest. A tiny whisper tells him something that he can’t believe. And yet, his fingers tap away at the keyboard almost immediately, click enter almost immediately. 
> 
> The little buffering sign appears, spinning for an instant, before the login screen becomes the home screen. 
> 
> A small sob makes its way out of Jungkook before he can help it.. He tilts his head forward, and his tears find themselves dripping to his lap as his heart breaks sadly in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's been a little over two months, I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to update. With the last few months of high school for me, everything has been crazy. 
> 
> I'm afraid that this chapter isn't the most eventful, it's really just Jungkook being sneaky. Still, I hope you all can enjoy this TT thank you for continuing to read!

The tapping of his foot sounds like a metronome, clunking rhythmically against the floor. From the outdoors buzzes a white noise, a song of summer that plays around the quiet house. Although he prefers simply keeping the windows open, the sweltering 97 degree weather offers no breeze to cool him down, a complete contrast to the day before.

 _Thump, thump, thump_. His heart beats on and on against his ribcage. A creaking sound in his house makes him pause.

No other sound is heard, but the boy with sweat running down the back of his neck stills. Almost like breaking a freeze-frame, Jungkook sinks back onto his heels, letting out a shaking breath, and looks back again at the keypad next to the official-looking double-doors. He has yet to try typing in a password, though he has a good idea of what it may be, in fear of getting it wrong and triggering some kind of alarm system. He’s not sure if it would allow him several guesses. He always pointedly looked away whenever his father went to enter the room.

Now, though, he wishes he had peeked just a little longer. The only digit he was sure of was the second, the number 2. He assumes that the password may be his mother’s birthday, an oddly affectionate feat for his stoic father. However, the prospect of messing it up has his hands sweating and eyes flitting over to the door of his house and back. The digits are right there, small round buttons waiting to be pressed. He tries to shake off his anxiety and reaches forward. With another inhale, he types in the numbers, quickly yet carefully.

A high-pitched beep sounds before he hears the doorknob buzzing. _It’s open._

He grabs the cold handle and walks in before the door can lock again, breath caught in his throat. He doesn’t bother questioning how easy it was to get in. Instead, he thanks the heavens for his luck.

The heavy wood of the door thuds eerily shut behind him as he takes in his father’s working space. It’s a decent size, with a bookshelf directly ahead against the back wall. There’s a leather armchair up against the right wall, along with a counter area immediately next to him where, from the coffee beans sitting on the counter. He guesses his father makes himself coffee for the late nights he spends in here. A desk sits against the left wall, the desktop he’d been looking for sitting on its polished top.

He walks lightly over to it, sitting down tentatively in the luxurious rolling chair. Afraid to make even the slightest sound, he pushes the power button slowly, as to lessen the clicking noise it was bound to make.

A small rush of adrenaline spikes through him as the screen lights up, revealing the login screen and a passcode.

He figures this one could be the same as the door’s, but also considers the extent of security his father would go to to ensure no one could access the secrets in his office. His hands type in his mother’s birthday anyways. The typing sounds, too loud in the silence of the house.

_Incorrect Password. Try Again._

He sighs, glancing around at the desk again. It’s relatively neat. A couple of different books are piled on the side, a journal sits underneath his elbow, and next to that a cup of pens and pencils. There’s a couple of stray papers around, scribbled with different little notes or addresses. Jungkook looks over them, even flips through the journal, but finds nothing in the way of a password.

_What would dad put as his password?_

The gears in his mind remain still as he tries to rack up some idea of what it could be. Maybe he put his own birthday? It’s possible. That’d be easier to remember, but also easier for someone else to guess. Jungkook types it in.

_Incorrect Password. Try again._

The computer screen makes him lean back against the back of his chair in thought. He only has one more try. A bead of sweat falls down his temple, and he feels his anxiety peak even higher. His eyes flicker around the desk once more in desperation for some kind of hint.

He leans over the chair, hair flopping in his face as he tries to open the drawers of the desk. The first one slides open, a bit of a mess of different office supplies. He moves a pile of blank cardstock aside, fingers brushing against something cool and smooth underneath. His eyes catch the corner of what looks like a frame. He nudges the cardstock completely aside to reveal the glass underneath.

“What?” his voice comes out in a surprised whisper at the sight he’d exposed.

Despite the layer of dust atop the glass, he can still clearly see the photograph beneath. A fingerprint shows where it was last held, and his heart flips seeing a small clearing in the pile of dust made right where Jungkook’s younger self stares back at him.

It’s a picture of him and his father, many years ago. Jungkook recognizes himself swaddled in blankets, but is surprised at the sight of arms wrapped around him and masculine hands cradling his small head. Jungkook shudders as he takes in his father’s face looking down at him. His father’s face, but also not his father’s face.

He looks absolutely nothing like how he does now. In the picture, he’s smiling, forehead devoid of lines, mouth corners curled up kindly. His eyes are glowing with something like happiness, something like pride. They look content, gazing at Jungkook as if… as if they might... 

The gears in Jungkook’s head shift the slightest. _Click_. A tiny whisper tells him something that he can’t believe. And yet, his fingers tap away at the keyboard almost immediately, click enter almost immediately.

The little buffering sign appears, spinning for an instant, before the login screen becomes the home screen.

A small sob makes its way out of Jungkook before he can help it. He tilts his head forward, and his tears find themselves dripping to his lap as his heart breaks sadly in his chest.

_His birthday._

 

…

 

Later that night, Jungkook holds papers in his hands, pictures of his father’s encrypted government emails. He feels horrible just having them. As soon as the last paper had exited the printer, he practically ran out of the office, unable to stay in that room any longer than he had to. Now, he sits on his bed, nose still slightly stuffy from crying, a thick stack of papers weighing down the mattress.

There were a couple of outgoing emails regarding Park Jimin’s mother, Park Hye-yun, that Jungkook was able to find. All in order, he found exactly where her name first appeared in his father’s job spectrum, starting off with an email with a document attached to it.

 

> _Name of Deceased: Park Hye-yun_
> 
> _Gender of Deceased: Female_
> 
> _Birthday of Deceased: September 8th_
> 
> _Date/Time of Death of Deceased: May 5th at 513 hours_
> 
> _Investigation_
> 
> _On May 5th at 300 hours, Park Hye-yun left from her residence to pick up her son from Sunshine Kindergarten and Elementary, approximately 20 minutes away from their place of living. Upon returning home at approximately 400 hours, Park Hye-yun and her son Park Jimin remained inside of their household until 500 hours. It was around this time when Park Jimin seemingly fell ill and was put to bed by Park Hye-yun in his room, located on the east side of the house…_

Jungkook slowly puts this paper to the side, scanning over the descriptive text briefly before moving onto the next emails. After being sent the autopsy report, Jungkook’s father had seemingly conversed with the sender across the span of a few days before mentions of the funeral came up.

 

> _May 10th at 6:48pm_
> 
> _Jeon Yeonghwan_
> 
> _To: Jung Chaeyoung_
> 
> _Subject: Case 103.1_
> 
> _Her funeral has already been arranged by I and Mr. Oh. As far as our research has provided, there are currently no living family members left of Park Hye-yun’s. Therefore, Mr. Oh assigned me to the job to contact the funeral home. Her burial will be taking place tomorrow afternoon. Let me know if you need any further details regarding the costs._
> 
>  
> 
> _June 11th at 8:21pm_
> 
> _Jeon Yeonghwan_
> 
> _From: Park Chaeyoung_
> 
> _Subject: Cs 103.1_
> 
> _It has come to my attention that Park Hye-yun’s gravesite must be moved to a secret location after the recent passing of the Child Protective Bill. Although Mr. Oh made the original preparations, it is now under my jurisdiction to oversee the transportation of the body and to debrief you on the new location. As my superiors have been more careful lately, I will not send it over email. Is there a time tomorrow where you can come to my office?_

“No way,” Jungkook speaks into the silence of his bedroom. A groan escapes him, and suddenly he feels as if he’s been struck with a bat to his head. _How am I supposed to find the location now?_ He rubs at his temples, frustration taking him over. _Think. Think…_

He peers up at the blue wall, distracted momentarily by the pictures hanging there, polaroids that he’d collected throughout the years of he and his friends, all the way back to their middle school years. He smiles briefly at the memories they’d made together, remembering how he had first met them all. He shakes his head, forcing himself to look away and refocus. He looks through the next emails slowly, eye scanning, looking for… He pauses, picking up one of the emails with no subject. 

 

> _June 13th at 6:37am_
> 
> _Jeon Yeonghwan_
> 
> _To: Park Chaeyoung_
> 
> _Subject: nosubject_
> 
> _The file is secure. Only you, I, and the director have copies._

“A physical file,” he thinks out loud, letting the paper flutter out of his hands, “Fuck.”

His bare feet pad against the floor of the hallway as he rushes back to his father’s office. The sky outside is darker now, the sound of the cicadas long gone, and Jungkook can feel sweat bead up on him as realizes that his mother could be home any minute. He practically slides to the door, punching in the passcode with shaking hands and entering.

The next half an hour is spent in a cacophony of opening drawers and rustling papers, manila folders being opened and closed, carefully sidled back into their original spots with no sign of being moved. He goes through every drawer with quick precision, coming up empty in almost every organized cabinet he looks through. It’s then that he looks to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room with reluctance, eyeing the locks on them wearily. He had hoped they wouldn’t be in there. But if they were nowhere else...

He goes over to the cabinet, giving each drawer a hopeful little tug, only for all of them to be locked. His hand flops down to his side, and he has to repress the urge to curl up in a ball on the floor and scream his vocal cords raw. He doesn’t know where his father would keep a key like that and nearly cries when the thought arises that he might wear it on a chain around his neck.

He turns around frantically, heart hammering as he tries to imagine a place the key might be. _In this room? Or maybe in his bedroom, under a pillow? No, that’s too obvious. Maybe the plant in the kitchen… or at his office at work?_

He stalks over to the bookshelf, pulling forward and opening random books helplessly. It’s the only other place inside that he could imagine the key being. They thud heavily against the wood, the sound chaotic along with his heavy breathing. He steps back, head in his hands as he tries to think clearly.

“Where? Where could i-” he cuts himself off, eyes widening as he recalls something his father mentioned once, a few summers ago.

_The weather outside is blazing, sun high in the sky and shining through the window of his front door as Jungkook bends down to grab his shoes. It’s late August, and he still hasn’t done his summer reading. A part of him blames Taehyung for hanging out with him everyday, but he supposes he can’t be angry about it either. They always have a great time together._

_“I’m going to the bookstore, Mom, I need a book for summer reading,” Jungkook shouts to his mom as he slides on his shoes, ready to leave._

_Said woman walks out from the kitchen, toweling off her hands as she speaks, “You haven’t done that yet? Jungkook...”_

_“I know mom, I just completely last track of time. But don’t worry! I can read fast, you know I can. I’ll finish it in time.”_

_His mom sighs, shaking her head slight, “Alright, then. Just be careful.”_

_“Wait.”_

_The deep voice of his father startles him so badly he nearly trips, but saves himself from stumbling over his just-tied laces. He looks up at the man, who stands awkwardly a few feet away, as if talking to his own son pains him._

_“I need to get a book as well,” he elaborates, “I’ll drive us there.”_

_Jungkook looks at him in slight shock, and his eyes wander over to his mother, who seems just as surprised as he does. His father seems to pick up on this, huffing a bit and crossing his arms even tighter._

_“Well?”_

_Jungkook swallows before nodding, “Y-yeah, okay. Thanks.”_

_The car ride there is quiet. Too quiet. He keeps his eyes glued on the sidewalks passing by, body stiff in his seat, unable to slouch even a little in the presence of his father. Every little move he makes sounds throughout the car, and eventually he feels a question building up in his throat that he can’t repress._

_“What book do you need to get?”_

_Jungkook can feel the man’s gaze move off the road for a second to glance at him. He flinches slightly at the sharp exhale his father makes before speaking._

_“It’s something to do with politics. Nothing special.” he answers shortly, his eyebrows looking perpetually furrowed as he stares blankly out at the street in front of them._

_“Oh,” Jungkook replies feebly, ready to delve back into the uncomfortable silence, when suddenly, he hears a small chuckle._

_He swears he can feel his neck nearly snap with how quickly he turns his head. The sight of a slight smile on his father’s face greets him, a tiny twinkle in his eyes that Jungkook had only ever seen in old, old pictures of him._

_“Yeah,” he says, “‘Oh’ is really the only way to describe them. Park Byung-ho,” he scoffs the author’s name, “He must be proud of how boring his books are. Believe me, it’s the last book anyone in this world would think to open.”_

_Jungkook can barely refrain from gaping at how casual his father sounds in that moment. For a second, he can almost pretend that their relationship is normal, and yet, as he watches his father’s cold demeanor freeze back into place, he knows such a dream would never come true._

 

“Park Byung-ho,” Jungkook mutters. He immediately goes back to the books, fingers scanning over the spines, leatherbound and cloth gliding over his fingertips. Serif texts blur across his sight, all words, letters, and names absent from his mind until, finally, the book from all those years ago appears. _“The Truth of the Republic” by Park Byung-ho._

He snatches the book from its spot on the shelf, other books immediately leaning over to take up the space left by its absence. Clumsily, Jungkook opens the front cover, and he nearly faints out of happiness at the sight of a key sitting in the hole carved into middle of the thick papers.

“I’m a criminal,” he whimpers while pulling the key from its hiding place, “a total fucking criminal.”

Still, he inwardly thanks his detective skills, wasting no time with his guilt as he turns back to the filing cabinet and unlocks each drawer as fast as he can. Like deja vu, the room is once again enveloped by the sound of rustling papers. It isn’t until the third drawer the he finally finds a stack of files labelled “Cs 103,” same as the emails, that he finds anything pertaining to the grave.

It’s the third manila folder that he’s opened that contains a coroner’s report. He puts this to the side. Underneath this are forms from the original cemetery they’d visited, along with papers dealing with the expenses of the burial.

He rifles through the other papers, when, finally, he comes upon a folder stamped _Classified_. He throws this open, picking up the letter on the inside.

“Permission by the Parks & Preservation department of the government has been granted to bury Park Hye-yun on the grounds of the Odaesan Garden Park, also known officially as lot 306…” Jungkook reads to himself, head swimming at the irony of it all. _She’s buried at the same park we read the book in._ He wonders for a moment if he’s dreaming.

A glance at the digital clock on the desk had him scrambling off his place on the floor. He quickly grabs the papers from the floor, rushing over to the printer and making copies of them.

“Come on, come on,” he whispers, foot tapping impatiently at the printer’s _click click click_ -ing. After copying both the coroner’s report, the letter from the Parks & Preservation department, and a few other papers he felt may be necessary, Jungkook rushes to put everything back into its proper place– locking the drawers, putting the key back into the book, and placing the book back between the leaning novels.

It’s as he bends down to pick up his copies from the floor that he hears the _bang_ of the front door being shut.

He panics for a split second, staring paralyzed at the papers in his hands before sloppily folding them up and sticking them into the waistband of his sweats. He pulls his shirt over it, praying they don’t fall through as he walks lightly to the door. From inside, he can hear movement in the kitchen, the sound of keys jingling and a bag being put down. _Mom._ He pushes the door open a fraction before letting it open even wider and tip toeing out into the hallway.

It’s not until the door is closed behind him that he allows himself to relax. But before he can throw himself against the opposite wall in relief, Jungkook walks stealthily down the hall and into the living room. He slides discreetly onto the couch as the sound of footsteps approaching from the kitchen starts up again, pretending to be asleep as his mother enters the room.

He has to force himself to lie still as he hears her sharply inhale and mutter , “Woah, I didn’t even see him there.”

He can practically see the surprised look on her face melting into a fond smile. Her feet shuffle closer to him, and suddenly there’s a hand gently shaking at his shoulder, a voice whispering, “Jungkook-ah.”

He makes a show of fluttering his eyes open, rubbing at them and stretching slightly as to feign drowsiness. His mother stands over him, the exact soft smile he imagined in his mind painted on her face.

“You have a bed for a reason, baby, go sleep in your room.”

He nods up at her, groaning a slight “okay” before hugging her goodnight and walking down the opposite hallway into his room. He has to stop himself from running the rest of the way into “safety,” opting instead to shut the door and speed walk to his bed.

Upon sitting down and unfolding the papers onto the rest of the pile of emails, he’s left feeling a mix of pride for his stealth, guilt for his trespassing, and dread over the information he found.

Still, he tells himself he did enough today. So, instead of torturing himself any longer, he grabs the papers, stuffs them in his bedside nightstand, and burrows himself into his bed sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow WelcomeToOmelas on twitter for inside looks and edits into the story!


	7. The Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness. A cold wind blows across his face. A black jacket rustles, hiding in a corner, eyes glowing. Watching.
> 
> “You should have stayed blind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my readers. I am... so sorry for not updating for so long. 
> 
> As you know, I've edited some parts of the story, and completely took out Jimin's chapters. I know it must be confusing to the people who having been reading as I post. I really am sorry. But when it comes to writing I sometimes have second thoughts even after I post. I found myself realizing that the Jimin chapters unnecessarily complicated things. Reading in just Jungkook's pov I feel makes a better atmosphere. 
> 
> So, I decided to edit and delete some parts. The prologue is completely new, but the major components of the story are the same and will not be changed. Thank you so much for you patience, and enjoy this chapter!

Jungkook walks around the bustling square, the woven basket he holds digging into the skin of his fingers with its weight. Around him, merchants have set up their stands for the season, voices blending together as they advertise their products to the mass of townspeople there to buy fresh produce. 

Every other month, Omelas holds these kinds of markets in its square, and with both his parents busy at work, Jungkook is the one who sets out to do the shopping. He remembers the first year he had done it alone was when he was 14. He had been so lost, looking around at all of the different meats and fish with a helpless confusion and a vague list that his mother had given him that morning. Luckily, Taehyung had eventually been there to help him, being in a similar position as him. As lifelong friends, it’d become yet another shared routine to do their families’ shopping together. 

Jungkook looks around the square once more for his friend, who is now late. His own groceries are almost done. The basket he holds is full of the usual goods his mother tells him to get, nearly spilling over with different meats and vegetables.

Suddenly, a person shoulders past him and knocks against his basket, nearly sending a carrot flying to the ground. 

Jungkook huffs as they continue walking on without a word, figure receding into the large market crowd. 

“People can be so rude,” a voice says from behind him. 

Jungkook jumps slightly at the voice so suddenly closeby and spins to see who spoke.

“Taehyung! You’re late.” 

His friend’s smiling face greets him, eyebrows raised in a silly way that Jungkook scoffs at. However, his silly face quickly transitions from smiling to pouting. 

“I know I’m late,” he frowns, “I bet I’ve missed all the good cuts of steak!”

Jungkook laughs as Taehyung flings his arms about in a way that reminds him of a child. 

“Don’t laugh!” his friend scolds, looking offended at Jungkook’s amusement before saying, more quietly, “Grandma will be disappointed if I don’t get her favorite.”

Jungkook wisens up a bit at this, smile turning soft as he pats Taehyung’s shoulder comfortingly. 

“She likes rib-eye, right? I saw some at Mr. Kim’s a few minutes ago. There should definitely be some left.”

Taehyung immediately perks up at this. Jungkook finds himself laughing again as his friend grabs his arm and weaves them through the crowd, shouting about why he didn’t say so sooner. 

Jungkook turns out to be right, and Taehyung happily deposits two rib-eye steaks into his basket before they continue on to the rest of the stands. 

For a few moments, as they walk around laughing and talking nonchalantly, Jungkook is able to forget about the past few days. It feels almost as if all of it were just a dream, until he notices the ever present figure behind him. A chill goes up his spine, and he realizes as they walk along that he’d caught glimpse of the same black jacket-clad person everywhere they’d turned.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung looks over to him, slowing his walk, “Are you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost!”

“Don’t slow down,” he whispers frantically, trying to discreetly glance behind them. 

“What? Why, Jungkook what’s wrong?” 

Jungkook doesn’t answer, too busy trying to maneuver quickly through the crowd, gripping onto Taehyung’s arm like a vice. He looks back once again, eyes darting around, but he can only see the bustling crowd. He can hear his heart pounding in his ears as he turns forward again.

“Someone is following us. I can’t see them anymore but we have to leave now,” Jungkook finally divulges. Taehyung’s eyes widen slightly and then, without any forewarning, he’s pulling them forward so fast that all Jungkook can do is follow. Within the next few minutes, they’re breaking out from the crowd and rushing into an empty side street. 

The two of them are doubled over, panting from running so suddenly. Jungkook can feel the sweat beading up on his forehead, lungs convulsing. As he breathes, he expects to start feeling better, but it’s with a sense of horror that he realizes he’s sweating even more than before. He tries to catch Taehyung’s attention, who is now glancing around the street corner to make sure they weren’t still being followed.

It’s only when he throws his head back against the stone fence behind him that Taehyung notices something is wrong. 

“Jungkook?”

The sound of Taehyung’s voice sounds strangely muffled to him. His head starts to throb, and suddenly the sight of Taehyung’s panic-stricken face flashes out into a bright light as he collapses onto the ground.

 

-

 

_ Fire crackles. He can’t see it, but he can hear it, he can smell it. It’s the smell of paper and leather burning, the sound of something splintering and popping. _

_ Voices shout beyond the fire, bodies standing around a pile of burnt objects. The light of the dying embers illuminates their faces: distraught, indifferent, afraid. They stand somewhere that looks terribly familiar, but before he can place just where it is, the fire goes out. _

_ Darkness. A cold wind blows across his face. A black jacket rustles, hiding in a corner, eyes glowing. Watching. _

_ “You should have stayed blind.” _

“Jungkook.”

He snaps awake, eye burning as they meet the sunlight.

“Jungkook!” he can see Taehyung sigh in relief, “Thank god, you just passed out out of nowhere. Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance”

He groans from his spot on the ground, shaking his head and using the wall behind up to get up. 

“No, I’m okay. How long was I out for?” 

Taehyung helps hoist him up, hand rubbing the boy’s back for comfort as he answers, “Not that long, probably less than a minute.”

Jungkook sighs, hands coming up to rub at his face. 

“We should leave. We don’t know if that guy is still looking for us.”

Taehyung nods, moving to go pick up the baskets as Jungkook takes a few moments to compose himself. 

“Come on,” Taehyung prompts him quietly. 

Jungkook pushes himself off the wall, leaving behind his dizziness as the two boys quickly evade the area, the eerie feeling of being watched following them as they go. 

 

-

 

They don’t stop walking until the feeling of eyes burning holes into their backs fades away. They’re a good ways away from the market by now, and their brisk walk had left no room for talking until now. 

“... Who do you think was following us?” Taehyung asks, almost as if he knows the answer himself. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to say it, afraid that speaking it will somehow make it more real. He hesitates a bit, and Taehyung seems to understand. They don’t say it out loud.

“So,” Taehyung speaks after a few minutes of silent walking.

Jungkook glances over at him.

“So?”

Taehyung clears his throat, giving him a look that has Jungkook looking away, back to the passing houses. 

“Did you... get the information?” 

Jungkook sighs, stopping momentarily in his tracks and looking up at the sky. It’s blue, a perfect blue, with a few fluffy clouds littered throughout. 

Taehyung cocks his head to side, watching his friend’s silence without pushing any further.

“I did.” 

He hears Taehyung’s quiet sigh of relief. He’s relieved too, he has the evidence they need. And yet something about having the proof makes him feel more frightened than anything.

“Then what’s wrong?”

Jungkook lowers his gaze back to his friend, fidgeting with his basket before speaking.

 

“We have no idea what will happen if we find him. If we actually save him… we’ll be dooming all of this,” he looks up at the sky again, at everything around him. It hadn’t been easy to get this far, and it’d only get harder. But his thoughts have begun weighing on him more and more. This doubt reappears in his behind increasingly more often. Their society,  _ Omelas _ … 

Taehyung gives him a bittersweet smile. He puts down his own basket on the ground, walking over to his friend to put his hands on his shoulders.

“You’ve started this already.  _ We’ve _ started this already. If we stop now… then what good are we, letting a boy live his life knowing only suffering, and letting future kids suffer that same fate?”

“But what is that worth if we destroy everything? What if those kids will suffer either way?” 

“We don’t know that,” Taehyung’s hand grasps his shoulder more firmly, “We don’t know exactly what will happen once this curse is broken.”

Jungkook sags under his gaze, looking to the side. 

“But if the book is right about the Child… then it’s probably right about the aftermath.” 

Taehyung goes silent for a moment. His mouth tilts, and he speaks, “You’re right. It could very well destroy Omelas. Maybe structurally. Maybe physically. But… once the Child is out, the government will have no choice but to evacuate everyone. They know better than anyone the consequences of the curse being broken.

But that’s what it is Jungkook. A curse. It doesn’t matter if it’s made this town as peaceful as it is. We’re not meant to live with perfection if it costs innocent children’s lives. Omelas just needs someone with the courage to show them.”

His friend’s sincerity shines sharply through his eyes, never breaking contact with his own, wavering ones.

“Give me the courage to show them,” he pleads, “Promise me you won’t leave my side, even if this completely backfires on us.”

Taehyung smiles, pulling him into a tight hug. 

“I promise. I’ll never leave your side.” 

They stay in each other’s embrace for a bit. The wind blows around them, and something about the world makes the moment feel special. Something has settled, they both know, but it goes unsaid. The two separate with comforted smiles.

“Alright,” Taehyung speaks first, breaking their silence, “let’s go drop the food off at our houses then. Do you wanna drop of yours first and come over to mine?” 

Jungkook agrees. He feels odd, not wanting to stay alone at home today, And so, they continue down the cobblestone roads, turning onto different streets until they make it to Jungkook’s house. 

Upon reaching his block, Jungkook finds himself confused, eyebrows furrowing as he catches sight of his father’s car in the driveway. Taehyung, who notices Jungkook’s expression, dons a similar face as he realizes the situation.

“Jungkook, is that-”

“My dad’s car, yeah. He’s supposed to be at work right now…” 

They pause for a moment at the start of the walkway up to the door. Jungkook swings his basket to the side, holding it now with just one hand, and turns to face Taehyung. 

“Maybe… you should probably wait here.” 

Taehyung doesn’t answer immediately, eyes scanning Jungkook’s face before nodding, a look of understanding flickering across the way he holds his mouth. 

With this, Jungkook walks nervously up to his door, opening it quietly as he steps inside. He catches Taehyung’s eyes briefly as he turns to shut the door behind him. Once he turns into the house, ready to unload the basket in the kitchen, he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight his father and two other strangers glaring back at him from the couches. 

“Jungkook-ah…” his father starts, looking even more stern with his professionalism in front of the people who Jungkook now assumes are his colleagues, “aren’t you supposed to be at the market?” 

Jungkook notices one of the people, a woman, glance down at the basket he holds and then into his eyes with a cold, emotionless look that he cannot read. She sits on the same couch as his father, a good distance away with her hands crossed neatly on her lap. Her hair is slicked back into a bun, revealing her alarmingly pale skin and eyebrows which have been penciled in to look more sharp. Her prominent smile lines lead down to a mouth even more firmly set than his own father’s, filled in with red lipstick that only serves to make her look more intimidating.

Across from the two of them on the other couch is another man, whose back faces him. Jungkook notices his hair is gelled back, grey streaks showing his age. The man turns around slowly, eyeing Jungkook with an air of curiosity. He’s much older than his own father and the woman, age spots freckled around his face. His mouth is pulled down into a permanent frown by his old age and jowls, and yet something about him holds more warmth than the two of them. By judging his stance and appearance, however, Jungkook can tell that he is the one in a higher position. 

“Yes, I was,” Jungkook answers his father, lifting his basket slightly to indicate this, “But Taehyung and I finished already. I was going to drop them off here and then go over to his house…” 

His father nods slightly, dismissing him with the gesture. Relief spreading through his chesy, Jungkook immediately spins on his heel to get to the kitchen, when suddenly a voice stops him. 

“Well, wait a moment. Mr. Jeon, won’t you introduce us to your boy?” 

Hesitantly, Jungkook stops his his tracks, turning his head back to the group. The man, definitely his father’s boss, smiles at him before looking at his father with a pushing gaze. Said man shifts uncomfortably, before nodding shortly and catching his son’s gaze. He tilts his head, gesturing for him to come over. 

A pit forms in Jungkook’s stomach as he finds himself walking over to the people he very much wanted to run away from. As he stops by the couches, the man stands up, hand stretched out towards him. Jungkook meets his hand in a handshake.

“I’m Mr. Oh, director of the CDS,” he smiles, “Your father is a very good worker, you should be proud of him.”

Jungkook can hardly stop himself from jolting at the name, eyes widening as he realizes just who this man is. He thinks back to the emails on his father’s computer with a gulp…

_ Her funeral has already been arranged by I and Mr. Oh’  _ the email had read.

_ Then,  _ Jungkook thinks,  _ If this is Mr. Oh… the woman is-  _

Mr. Oh chuckles a bit, no doubt at his expression. 

“No need to be intimidated, boy. Your father and I have worked together many years, we’re more friends than anything, right Yeonghwan?” 

Jungkook’s father’s face stutters in response. He offers a smile that looks all too polite and forced. 

Mr. Oh then turns to the woman sitting, who stands up at his indirect go ahead to introduce herself. 

“I’m Mrs. Park, a coworker of your father’s. Nice to meet you,” she says with clipped words and a small, professional smile that resembled more of a smirk than anything. 

_ Park Chaeyoung,  _ his mind supplies,  _ also in charge of Park Hye-yun’s funeral... _

“Nice to meet you, too,” he says, trying to force a smile onto his face as well. Her hand is cold, and her long, false nails graze his hand for the brief moment she shakes it. The awkwardness permeates the room afterwards, shrouded by the tenseness of professional handshakes and forced smiles.  _ Just my luck.  _ Jungkook can’t help but shudder realizing that all these people, including his own father, are in charge of the horrifying things that, as of late, have been haunting his dreams.

Eager to leave, Jungkook bows slightly,  then escapes into the kitchen. He puts away all of the groceries as quickly as possible. Inside the living room, he can hear silent muttering, and can tell that they are waiting for him to leave before continuing whatever meeting they were in the middle of.  _ Gladly,  _ he thinks as he shoves the carrots onto a shelf. His phone chimes, but he ignores it in favor of getting out as soon as possible. 

Finally, he closes the refrigerator door and walks briskly, yet carefully, into the living room. He wants to race towards the door, but the group turns towards him again as soon as he enters. He can’t help but feel trepidation when he sees the agitation on his father’s face. 

“So, Jungkook, I bet you’d like to get into the same career as your father am I right?”

Jungkook takes a sharp breath in, panic fluttering in his chest anew, but this time with another, underlying feeling, something that festers as he looks at the people in front of him… something like…  _ disgust _ . 

His hands tremble with the feeling that crawls up his arms.  _ Panic. Disgust. Hate. Fear.  _ He once again forces a smile onto his face, one that must look more like a grimace, more like a recoil. 

“Ah… I’ve been interested but… I’m not sure I’d want it as a job,” he manages.

The director’s head tilts, his eyes glinting, and Jungkook suddenly sees what’s hidden behind the ‘warmth,’ a veil that disguises something else, something that yells at him to run away. Was that there before? Or had this other side of Mr. Oh shown itself as Jungkook questioned him? Or had the director shown him on purpose, a power move to pin him under his scrutiny. He thinks back to the obvious control this man has over Mrs. Park and his father. 

“And why is that?” said man drawls, and Jungkook finds himself shaken as he hears the edge in his voice.  _ Dangerous _ . He’s gotten himself into something dangerous.

“W-well… I just-” 

“Jungkook,” someone interrupts, “Isn’t your friend waiting for you?”  

His eyes snap towards his father. For a moment, he finds himself speechless, just looking. The agitation has settled, but he can see the way one of his fingers twitches. He looks almost desperate, and the way he glances at the director’s back… 

“Ah- yes actually, I should really get going… It was nice to meet you all… See you later, dad.” 

His father dons an odd expression, but nods anyways, “See you later.”

The director huffs a little as whatever plan he had obviously falls apart. But he doesn’t fail to put on another deceivingly kind smile. 

“Ah well…” he says, “Perhaps we’ll see each other again sometime.” 

Jungkook gulps, “Yes… perhaps.” 

The man smiles a bit wider, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Jungkook gives them another bow before racing towards the door and escaping out into the open and leaving behind their terrifying eyes.

Still standing at the end of the walkway is Taehyung, who turns around once he hears the door closing. Jungkook walks up to him.

“That took a while, why was your dad home?” 

“I…” Jungkook starts before looking back at the house, “...I’ll tell you later. Let’s get out of here first.”

“...Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> Follow WelcomeToOmelas on twitter for inside looks and edits into the story  
> My (art) insta is blushymin


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